


The Girl From The Future

by MedievalFangirl



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Slow Burn, Time Travel, modern girl in the past
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2019-10-17 08:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 82,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17557118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedievalFangirl/pseuds/MedievalFangirl
Summary: Adeline Brown is spirited away from her peacefully mundane life, thrown a millennium into the past and dumped outside the fortress of Dunholm. Thinking her to be a gift from the Gods, Kjartan keeps her prisoner as a talisman to ensure his success in battle. Adeline resists in any way she can, but captivity can quench even the most blazing of fires. Enter Uhtred of Bebbenburg, who aids the liberation of Dunholm, and offers her a place to call home. Follow the girl from the future as she learns to live in the past, making friends and enemies along the way, and maybe even falling in love.





	1. Copious Amounts of Swearing

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> Thank you so much for clicking on this fic and checking it out! I just love The Last Kingdom so much I couldn't resist writing something! For reference, Adeline arrives at the start of season 2. I will be following the events of the TV show, including places where they deviate from the actual history a bit. Though I may use some artistic license and combine the show and reality in places if that works! We'll see where the journey takes us :) Just a warning- Adeline curses. Especially in the first few chapters, where she's particularly shocked, terrified and angry about her predicament. 
> 
> Word Count: 4530
> 
> Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the story!

For 23 years, I lived a life that was in no way noteworthy. I will not use the cliche of how normal my life was, how I was so ordinary up until that day. We are all unique and normal does not exist. Still, my existence was, until that day, one that would earn no place in tales or songs, one that simply blended in with the fabric of the world. I suppose living 23 dull, monotonously content years meant it was time for something more, something that was worthy of a grand tale. So, if you’ll allow me, I shall tell it. 

One morning I awoke to find I was not in my bed. There was none of this slow realisation of great truth so often portrayed, no gentle awakening to find that my bed was in fact not a bed. Oh no. I screamed my way into consciousness. Eyes snapping open as my body sprang into a sitting position, I froze in horror at the sight that greeted me. Somehow, inexplicably, my eyes were showing me moorland. Sodden ground and mud stretched as far as I could see, the miserable skyline occasionally broken up by equally pitiful looking trees; spindly and thin with all their leaves lost to the winds and seasons. I was situated on a particularly damp patch of grass, the moisture wasting no time in seeping into my fluffy emu pyjamas. One of the giant, flightless of birds was staring up at me happily from it’s patch just above the knee of my left leg. 

“What are you looking so happy about? Emus have beaks so whoever designed that smile on your face is an idiot!” I hissed.

Before I had the chance to further insult my clothes, and try to distract myself from the insanity of the situation, the sound of galloping horses reached my ears. 

Scrambling to my feet, and almost pitching over again thanks to the slippy terrain, I stood with arms hugged tightly around my torso as a group of horse-riders approached. The closer they got the more my stomach dropped. They were carrying swords. And axes. They were clothed in attire straight from History Channel's Vikings, draped in alarmingly life-like furs and had hair that would put John Bon Jovi to shame. Maybe they were cosplayers? The second the thought occurred to me I shot myself down. I’d seen viking fancy-dress costumes before and they looked nothing like this. My never ending thought stream took this moment to remind me that I was in a field, I wasn’t wearing shoes and I had no idea how I got here. A strangled sob tore from my lips, followed by another, and another, and by the time the leader of the group had dismounted I was crying so heavily he was just a blurry shape. I rubbed rather viciously at my eyes to clear my vision and what I saw was of no comfort. Long, pale blonde hair reached past his shoulders overtaking a scruffy beard of a matching shade. He was fairly heavily set, a giant sword swinging idly in his right hand as he stepped forward. But his distinguishing feature was the leather eyepatch that covered his forehead and swept around his head, obscuring an eye from view. A furtive glance behind me revealed I was surrounded, and I could do little to stop the shaking that had taken over my body. 

“What brings a saxon clothed so strangely to Dunholm? Speak quickly woman, I am Sven Kjartansson.” 

Any relief I could have felt at hearing a language I understood was chased away by the shivers racing down my spine. His voice made me want to hurl. There was something so wrong about it, about him, from the way his hand eagerly palmed the tilt of his weapon to his blatant eyeing of my body. His gaze was hot and heavy and I felt sick. But I had taken too long to respond and suddenly the tip of his sword was at my throat. 

“Answer!”

“I-I have no idea how I got here! I woke up like, seconds ago and I have no idea how I ended up in this bastard field! Please please please don’t stab me and bury me out here in the middle of fucking nowhere. I refuse to fertilise you, grass! You’re not having my nitrogen, or my carbon. Piss off and find your own nutrients!” 

Words spilled uncontrollably from my mouth as my blood turned to ice. My poor, panicking lungs were pulling air in at a million miles an hour leaving me gasping like a fish out of water. I was a fish out of water. What the fuck was happening? I was rambling and threatening the plant-life, and oh surprise surprise, crying again.

“Saxon women do not curse. Who are you?” 

“I’m not a fucking saxon!” I sobbed, unsure why I had to make him understand this so desperately. “My name is Adeline Brown, please tell me we’re still in England right now? I haven’t been kidnapped and shipped abroad overnight?”

At this, Sven and his men laughed uproariously, ignoring my horror stricken face.

“England is a sick man’s dream. Alfred will never have his England!” 

Okay, this guy was nuts. Who was Alfred, and why was this one-eyed madman under the impression he owned England? I was starting to feel hot and floaty, and with a giddy sort of relief I realised I was going to faint. I only had time to think fuck yes before sweet, blessed darkness swept me away from the most confusing and terrifying encounter of my life. 

For the second time that day, I woke up suddenly and sharply. I went to sit up, and found my wrists were bound behind my back, making the movement awkward and slow. I was in a room made entirely of wood, from the floorboards to the roof. The walls were decorated with antlers, shields, and wooden beaming. I was sitting in an open floor space, directly in front of a metal basin containing fire, which itself sat in front of a throne wrapped in furs. Beyond the throne lay long, wooden (surprise!) tables with benches and chairs. Each individual part of the room was of little importance. What did hold my attention was, when all parts were considered, this room was old. And not crappy-museum-display old, I mean authentic wow-that-movie-had-a-great-budget old. The only light source was from the windows and the fire. There were no lights and nothing electronic of any kind. Where the bloody hell was I?

Footsteps from behind me informed me I was no longer alone. Unable to twist around in my precarious position, I had to wait as people flowed past me on either side. To call the man who now lounged upon the throne intimidating was beyond an understatement. His leather armour was cropped at the shoulders, showing strong, lean arms. Brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and a matching beard was neatly cropped. His eyes were lined in what looked liked charcoal. I couldn’t even find his guy-liner amusing, because he was currently levelling me with a stare that saw into the depths of my soul. Or something like that. I barely even noticed that Sven stood to his left, or a dude with black polka-dots all over his face stood to his right, because throne-dude had such an aura. Unfortunately for me, it was not a good one. 

“Why were you outside Dunholm?” 

His voice was no less menacing than his appearance. 

“I presume this is Dunholm?” I asked quietly, feeling anxious under his interrogation. 

“You were found a stone’s throw from our gates. Do not feign ignorance, I find it tiresome.” His voice held steel and suddenly I was very afraid. Clearly, I could not give him an answer that would satisfy him. 

“I already told Sven! I have no idea how I ended up there. I woke up there! I went to bed last night and everything was normal and now I’m here. You say this is Dunholm but I don’t know where that is! I’ve never heard of Dunholm, and I have no idea who any of you are. I’m sorry if I’m trespassing, I’m so sorry but I just want to go home. Please!” 

“You speak in a strange manner.”

“You talk like it’s the middle ages!” 

“What is this ‘middle-ages’ you speak of?” 

Warning! Warning! Hysteria levels rising to critical.

“How can you ask me that? This entire place is decked out like it’s hundreds of years old!” I asked incredulously. “Please just let me go. This is all some terrible mistake, me being here. Let me phone someone, they can come and pick me up and I’ll be out of your hair. You have a phone, right?”

“You speak in tongues and I do not care for it! I do not know what this ‘phone’ is but you will speak to no one. You will tell me why were you outside Dunholm!” 

Kjartan stood from his throne and stalked over to me, shouting now, and if I thought he was scary before he was fucking terrifying now. This hulking brute was towering over me, looking like he wanted to rip me apart, and honestly at this point I’d just had it with whatever the hell was going on. Yes, I was scared. And more confused than I’d ever been in my life. But why the hell was he was getting angry with me? How dare he? I was being completely truthful, I had done nothing wrong and these maniacs were interrogating me like a suspect for a crime. 

“Why are you pretending you don’t know what a phone is?!” I shouted right back, and suddenly I was so angry I was shaking all over. “You’re here in this ancient-looking room dressed like fucking Vikings, you’ve kidnapped me once, quite possibly twice, you’re acting like it’s the 12th Century, you carry real swords, and you’re clearly insane! For the last. Fucking. Time. I have no idea how I ended up where Sven found me!” 

There was silence as Sven and spotty-face watched Kjartan. I’d just screamed in their leader’s face like a mad-woman. I didn’t know how I expected him to react, but it certainly wasn’t by stepping back and watching me with a deep frown. 

“You say I behave as if it is the 12th Century, how can I behave in a manner not yet known?” Kjartan asked me slowly, looking at me like I was the crazy one. 

My blood didn’t just run cold at that. An iceberg was piercing my heart. Titanic we are going down, someone call for the Carpathia. 

“Of course it’s known. It’s 2019. We know all about the 12th Century because it’s in the past.” I replied equally slowly, trying to quench the horrible dred rising through me. There was no way. No way. It wasn’t possible, and I refused to even think it, even if my body was already reacting to the possibility. 

“The year is 879.”

“NO! NO! It’s 2019 and you’re all fucking mental and I’m done with your shit!” I shrieked, beginning to yank my hands mercilessly against the ropes. “Let me go!” 

“The year is 879 and you will cease this nonsense!” Kjartan snapped, seeming to grow angry at my hysterics yet again. Honestly I didn’t give a fuck how angry he was because this nut-job was trying to tell me we were in the 9th Century. I would scream all I liked and he would deal. 

“No you cease you fucking prick! Stop talking like that and stop whatever this is! Stop it! STOP IT!” 

After that I descended into a wailing, incoherent mess. Kjartan ordered me put in ‘the cage’. Sven hauled me up by the bindings on my wrists, with me thrashing and screaming obscenities at him. At one point I managed to throw my head back and crack him in the face, resulting in a strong backhand that had me seeing stars. Blinking dazedly, I staggered after Sven as he dragged me backwards, my mind reeling and screaming as it turned itself in knots trying to understand what was happening. 

Our destination turned out to be a human-sized, steel bird-cage in the corner the room, which had been behind me and so out of my sight. As realisation dawned on me I began to yell and struggle again, not caring for the consequences because I was not going to be caged without a fight. But the exertions of the day had left me weak, and the one-eyed psycho handling me was likely much stronger than me on a good-day. He picked me up and dropped me in, before swinging the top shut and bolting it. 

I was numb with shock. They’d put me in a cage. These people kept a life-size cage ready to lock people in. Eventually the shock gave way to anger, leaving me bashing my fists against the bars and swearing at anyone who would listen. Kjartan, Sven and spotty-man had long since left, leaving me alone, but I hoped those bastards could hear me. But as I said, I was exhausted, and the anger ran its course and faded too. It left only the haunting whispers in my mind, the ones I was desperately trying to ignore. The ones that were telling me I’d been captured by vikings, and the year was 879. 

I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew I was blinking into consciousness with a horrible ache all the way down my back. I wasn’t even allowed a moment of blissful ignorance because my eyes had opened instinctually as I woke, letting me know I was still in that cage. Thanks a bunch, eyes. The sun had set, leaving only the dying fire to light the room. I was also cold. My feet were still bare, and absolutely filthy eww, and my pajamas though comfy were hardly enough for a room that had no heating beyond a puny excuse for a fire. I pulled myself up into a sitting position and rapidly engaged ball-mode, wrapping my arms around my legs to trying and keep some heat in. 

Waking up for a third time and finding myself still here left a horrible taste in my mouth. While it had never seemed likely, due to how awfully life-like this had all felt so far, I was now most certainly neither dreaming or hallucinating. What I was experiencing was real. This left me with limited options. I knew some people re-enacted medieval times as a hobby, but surely they would have broken character upon finding some stupid woman wandering around their field? They certainly wouldn’t have felt the need to kidnap and torment her by pretending the whole thing was real. So medieval re-enactment? Out. That left me with one option. Somehow, inexplicably, it was actually 879. Yeah, you can imagine how well I took that. It’s safe to say I’d been crying for a really long time when I heard coughing behind me. I turned to see another man lingering by the doorway. He entered the room cautiously, which was odd. Let me remind you I was in a cage. It’s not like I could go anywhere. 

I was able to collect myself enough to watch him as he approached me. I was terrified, obviously. I was a captive of vikings. Who knew what he was going to do? But I was equally as angry. Angry that my entire life had been taken away, and I’d been found by sadistic bastards who’d locked me up. Something you should know about me, something you’ve likely already noticed, is that when I’m scared, I get angry. It’s a coping mechanism, because being angry is easier. When you’re angry you’re focused and directed, when you’re scared you’re immobilised. Besides, a stubborn part of me had decided they’d seen enough of my tears and hysteria. I had never been the kind of woman who just allowed things to happen. While there was little I could do currently, they were nuts if they thought I was just going to sit here and cry until they decided what to do with me. 

This new man was much younger than Kjartan, probably close to my own age of 23. His dark hair was shaved either side with the long middle portion braided back. His eyes were as dark as his hair, and a tattoo wound its way around his neck. He was cute. Really cute, actually. But like everyone I’d seen, he was dressed in leather armour and did not look like someone to mess with. Oh well. 

“Unless you’re holding a key, fuck off.” I spat at the newcomer, actual spittle flying from my lips. Ladylike I am not. 

“That word is not known to me Lady, though your tone makes clear your meaning. You do not want to talk, that is understandable. But I plead, hear what I say?” 

...what?

That certainly knocked the wind from my sails. I was shaken on two fronts, so I’ll address them in order of importance. ‘That word is not known to me’? Did that mean ‘fuck’ hadn’t been invented yet? Half my vocabulary was gone, in that case. Though paling in comparison to my ‘fuck-revelation’, I was also taken aback to hear him talking to me with kindness. He actually sounded sympathetic, sorry even. Not to mention he’d addressed me as ‘Lady’. What the hell? 

“Why are you talking to me like that? You should not be so courteous to your captive, ” I snapped, both bitter and suspicious.

“You are not my captive,” he replied firmly. “You are Kjartan’s.”

“He’s your leader isn’t he? There’s no difference.”

“Yes he is my Lord, but not by choice. My name is Sihtric and I am his bastard.” 

It took me a moment to realise he meant bastard in the original sense of the word- he was Kjartan’s illegitimate son, entitled to none of the benefits creepy Sven no doubt reaped.

“So your dad fooled around a bit. What does that have to do with me?”

Okay. I could have been a little more delicate, we can’t choose our parents after all. But I felt my question was justified- what did his parentage have to do with me? No matter how he felt about Kjartan, he was still serving him. I doubted a few repressed daddy issues were enough for Sihtric to decide to break me free. 

“You will hear what I have to say?” 

I nodded, indicating he continue, and he did. 

“I am to be your guard, Lady. But you must know, I do not agree with Kjartan’s keeping you in such a manner, or him keeping you at all. It is wrong to keep a free woman as a captive. I will do all I can to keep you safe, for I cannot free you without making certain our deaths.” 

Huh. I hadn’t exactly been expecting Prison Break, so I’d take what I could get. Still, niggling doubts pulled at the corner of my mind. I couldn’t stop myself from feeling suspicious, despite the sincerity in Sihtric’s tone and demeanor. 

“I’m not sure I trust you… but if you’re being honest, then thank you.” 

“I assure you Lady I have spoken the truth. You will learn to trust me.” 

He sat with me for hours, answering my every query. My appetite for knowledge was insatiable. This world was a blank slate to me- I knew next to nothing about this period of time. I learnt that Dunholm was a fortress, heavily guarded and nigh impregnable. Attempting to escape was futile. Kjartan was a Northman, a Dane, who’d once been sworn to a Lord named Ragnar. But he’d burnt his hall with the family still inside, gained power and influence, taken Dunholm and named himself a Lord. The family’s eldest son, Ragnar the Younger, had survived and sworn revenge on Kjartan. He was known as Kjartan the Cruel, and considering I’d been partaking in the conversation from a cage I’d had no trouble believing that. Sven, it turned out, had been a creepy little shit his whole life. The late Ragnar had taken his eye as a child after he assaulted his young daughter. That daughter, now an adult like Sven, was also a captive here. She chose to live with the hounds, and apparently Sven was too afraid to enter her cell. You go girl. 

Then suddenly Sihtric was on his feet and standing rigidly in front on the cage. Kjartan walked into the room, flanked by creepy-Sven and spotty-dude. Story time, over. 

“You fancy letting me out of here, dickwad?” 

Kjartan levelled me with an icy stare, and while ‘dickwad’ was likely a new word to him I think he caught my drift. 

“Sihtric, take her to her cell.”

Sihtric unbolted the cage and flipped the lid open before indicating I stand. I did so and he helped me climb out, my motion still impeded by my bound wrists. 

“A cell you say? Good grief! This is like when you get offered a free upgrade to first-class at the airport.” 

“You will cease your incessant nonsense while in my presence!” Kjartan snapped, the ice in his voice now replaced with fire in his eyes. 

I didn’t know whether to be pleased I could annoy him so easily, insulted he considered my normal conduct to be ‘incessant nonsense’ or worried that yet again, I’d angered him. Somewhere, buried deep, my self-preservation instincts were pleading that I shut my mouth and follow Sihtric to wherever he was about to take me. But why break the habit of a lifetime and listen? 

“You’ve kidnapped me and made me your prisoner. I have no intention of making this easy for you. Get ready for a shit-load of ‘incessant nonsense!” 

Dunholm’s Lord was not happy with that response. He marched over to me so quickly I barely had time to take a panicked step backwards before he’d grabbed the front of my pyjama top and yanked, bringing us face to face. 

“You breathe still only because your manner is a curiosity. Do not become such a nuisance that I change my mind.” Kjartan’s dark eyes were locked with mine, his breath ghosting over my face. I nodded quickly, eyes wide. No one had threatened my life before. It was horrible. 

Kjartan stepped back and I released a breath I didn’t realise I was holding. He waved a hand at Sihtric, a dismissal, and I was taken away. I didn’t fight like I’d fought Sven, I simply walked quietly at the Dane’s side. This was not Kjartan’s victory. I was quiet because he’d just threatened to kill me, and it had shaken me. But he would not break me, and I would never give in. 

I was led from the only room I’d seen so far, outside, and immediately back through another doorway and down a rickety flight of stairs. I had little time to observe Dunholm, catching only a glimpse. We descended the steps and were instantly met with barking. The musty room was long and quite narrow, holding two cells at either end, a few candles offering dim lighting. Dogs paced up and down the left cell, growling and threatening us. The human occupant, who must have been Thyra, sat motionlessly on the bed, unseeing eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. Her beautiful red hair looked dull and tangled, a heaped mess on her head. Her face was hollow and her eyes void of life. Was this my future? 

Sihtric directed me to the empty cell, locking the door behind me once I was inside. He looked regretful, even apologising to me as he did so. I just shook my head. I was still speculative about his apparent sympathy, and even if he was genuine, there was nothing he could do. With one last unhappy look, Sihtric left me. The cell was sparse, with a little straw put down as a bed and a bucket in the corner. I shuddered at the thought of what I’d be using the bucket for and involuntarily clenched my thighs. Gross. I settled down in the straw, stretching my back out and rolling my still stiff neck. Thyra’s hounds were quiet now, though she still hadn’t moved. Then in a twilight-zone moment, she seemed to sense I was thinking about her. Those dead eyes snapped to meet mine, and in a flurry of movement she’d walked forward and gripped the bars with both hands. 

“Who are you?” she asked in a surprisingly strong voice, her accent pulling at the words. 

“Adeline Brown. You’re Thyra?” 

She nodded, eyes taking in my appearance. I can’t imagine how odd I looked to her: barefoot in clothes like nothing she’d ever seen, long brown hair a tangled mess.

“I am sorry that Dunholm is your fate. This place is misery.” 

Well that’s comforting. 

“I may be here now, but it is not my fate,” I insisted.

“You have resilience. Hold onto that,” Thyra advised, almost sounding bitter. 

Did she feel as if her own resilience had failed her? This woman had watched her family burn, been kidnapped by her abuser and locked away from the world. Yet that very abuser was now so terrified he could barely approach her. She was the definition of strength.

“Thyra, I don’t know you. But I do know how you ended up here. And I know Sven is scared to death of you. So I can tell you with utmost certainty, you are the strongest woman I have ever met.” 

The smallest of smiles crossed her face at that, a hint at the beauty she may have once possessed. “I thank you, though I do not agree. I am at a disadvantage, because I know nothing of your circumstance. Will you tell me?”

And I did. I told her how I had woken up outside the fortress with no memory of how I got there, and everything that had happened to me since. I missed out the part about being transported a thousand or more years into the past, not wanting her to think I was a total fruit cake. Thankfully she did not ask me where I was from, seemingly sensing it was a topic I would not broach. I was beginning to see how insightful and sensitive she could be.

With no way to tell the time, I couldn’t say when it was I finished telling her my story. But I can tell you how tired I was despite napping that afternoon. For someone like myself, who’s one true love is sleeping and should probably have been born as some kind of hibernating animal, this was standard procedure. I apologised to Thura, telling her how tired I was, but she didn’t seem offended. She simply nodded. The last thing I saw as I curled up in the straw was one of her pale hands stroking the hound by her side, eyes unfocused, somehow looking both fragile and strong at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we are, I hope you enjoyed! I know, nothing of our fabulous Irishman yet. I want to give you an idea of what Adeline is like as a person, and show you all the parts of her story. 
> 
> Side note - I hope to develop Finan and Adeline in a way that seems realistic, so when they do meet there will be no instantaneous falling in love. Don't worry, it won't take 40 chapters for them to smile at each other. There'll be lots of goodness to sink your teeth into, this is just a warning that there won't be marriage by chapter 5! 
> 
> Let me know what you thought, please leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed. I'm over on tumblr under the same name so if you're about in that neck of the woods, say hi! 
> 
> Until next time loves :)


	2. Stuffed Up The Unmentionable

I was homesick. Everything had been so manic and scary the first day. But the first morning I woke up in my cell, it occurred to me that I’d lost every single person in my life. To know I would never see my family again broke my heart, and for the first few days I’d been inconsolable. It was on the third day of my loud sobbing bouts and ignoring my food that Thyra spoke. Unprompted she began to tell me about her wise grandfather. For a while I ignored her, preferring to wallow, but she just kept talking. Story after story about this man she’d lost yet clearly loved so much. When she noticed I was paying attention, she finished her current tale.

“You will never see your family again. Remember them well, and fondly. But you must accept that they are gone, or this pain will madden you.”

“How can I possibly accept that?” I’d asked, voice hoarse from crying.

“Because you must. You told me Dunholm was not your fate. For that to be true you must be stronger than this.”

She’d been right, of course. She normally was. For all she spoke of her grandfather, I believe  _ she  _ was the wise one in her family.

After that, everything became very routine. I would wake up, usually from a nightmare, with the sunrise. Sihtric would bring me something to eat and would listen as I told him anything I could remember from my nightmare. It helped to get it off my chest, though I definitely lost him when I tried to explain the weeping angels from  _ Doctor Who.  _ There was little to do during the day beyond talking with Thyra, and we soon came to know each other quite well. The only time I saw her smile was that first day. She was always polite and seemed content to swap endless childhood stories with me. But she never smiled. Sihtric would return again at midday and nightfall with more food, this time telling me anything of interest from his day. Once he’d told me that Sven had fell in horse shit while training, and I’d been on cloud 9 for  _ days.  _ Occasionally the routine would change, with Sihtric coming to empty the bucket of unmentionables in the corner. Between our buckets, the hounds, and ourselves, the smell down here must have been horrific but Sihtric never  _ once  _ mentioned it. He was right, by the way. He’d earned my trust within days, and my friendship soon after. Of course, I still missed my family, my home and my _ life _ . I missed it all, every day. But I was learning to live with it.

Everything changed with the arrival of Storri.

Sihtric had arrived one morning to escort me back to where I’d first spoken to Kjartan, a room I now knew to be the main hall. He seemed just as confused as I was, and the only advice he could offer me was to be quiet. Yeah right.

Kjartan was sat on his throne looking as menacing as ever, his son and the spotty-faced dude on either side. A man I didn’t recognise with wild curly hair in two long braids and excessive eye shadow stood near them, watching me thoughtfully. They looked like a shitty boy-band. I tried not to let that thought show on my face, goodness knows Dunholm’s Lord wouldn’t have been impressed if I started giggling. Of course, when you’re not supposed to laugh something is  _ so much  _ funnier. In the end I settled for faking a violent coughing fit to release the pressure in my chest. Sihtric was watching me in alarm, and I just  _ knew  _ he was questioning my sanity and inability to ‘refrain from my nonsense’.

“This is the woman?” eye shadow-man asked.

“Yes,” Kjartan confirmed.

Eye-shadow-man walked over and began to circle me slowly, taking in my filthy, smelly glory. He stopped level with me and leant forwards. I leant backwards warily, thrown by this odd man’s behaviour and this entire debacle. This was the first time I’d been allowed to leave the cell and it was so a man with questionable makeup could stare creepily at me. Yeah, no thanks.

“What’s going on?” I asked, sidestepping around eye-shadow man so I could see ¾ of  _ Take That. _

There was silence, and eyeshadow-man simply took a step forward, so he was again standing right in my personal space.

_ Dude get out of my grill. This isn’t a BBQ. _

He moved so fast I only registered after he’d leant back that he’d just reached forward and  _ pulled out one of my hairs.  _ What the fuck was going on?

“Storri is a sorcerer. He will determine your fate,” Sven told me smugly.

Judging by the glare Kjartan shot his son, he’d had no intentions of letting me know that. But Sven had clearly seen the panic on my face when this Storri bloke decided to start yanking out my hair and was unable to resist the jibe.

A sorcerer? I’d never believed in magic, but after  _ something  _ had pulled me from the 21st Century and sent me to the 9th, I wasn’t so sure anymore. I’d put little thought into the actual  _ mechanics  _ of how I’d ended up here, because what was there to do beyond speculate? But I now regarded eyeshadow-man with a wary caution. Storri placed my hair in a small mortar, then used a pestle to grind down some leaves. He added water and watched the concoction as if it held the all the answers. Maybe it did.

Storri spoke after a long silence, gaze fixed on the murky water. “Lord, she is cursed. The Gods have taken her from her homeland and taken all memories of the journey. She does not know how to return. She cannot. Though they touched her in anger, this woman has still felt the hands of our Gods most intimately. I believe she will bring you good fortune in battle, Kjartan.”

_ Say what? _

“And if I killed her?”

_ WHAT? _

“I would counsel against that course. To harm a gift, for that is surely what the Gods intended her to be, would bring you misfortune.”

_ Thank fuck. _

“I see.” Kjartan paused, thinking, weighing up my life in his hands. “If I were to cage her, and hang that cage from the roof of my hall, for the men to see the gift I have been graced with. Would that please the Gods?”

“It would, Lord.”

I stood, frozen to the spot, totally immobile as I tried to process what Kjartan had just said. He was going to put me back in that cage, and show me off like a trophy? No! I wasn’t an object, a good-luck charm to hold close. I was a human being, with free will and a voice.

“I think there’s someone you’re forgetting to ask.” I snapped icily.

Forget sidestepping, this time I marched forwards and shoved Storri out of my way, coming to a halt in front of Kjartan. There was an inferno in my chest, a blazing fire so hot it melted away any fear I felt at seeing the Lord’s equally furious expression.

“I don’t  _ care  _ what your sorcerer told you. I’m not your possession, you can’t just lock me away! I’m a living, breathing person and you will let me go  _ right now _ !”

“You will be silent!” Kjartan roared, standing from his seat and meeting me halfway.

I was fuelled by reckless anger. Weeks in the dungeon had sharpened my hatred for this man into a spearhead, and I intended to cut him with it.

“No I won’t!” I yelled, hands balled into fists and shaking with the strength of my emotions. “I will  _ never  _ be quiet because you have no right to keep me prisoner, and no authority over me! Release Thyra, and release me, or I swear if there’s  _ any _ truth in what Storri says I curse you to never win another battle. I curse you and your fucked-up son to die  _ wretchedly. _ ”

I was flying backwards before I even registered that Kjartan had pushed me. I landed heavily on my back, the air flying from my lungs and pain shooting up my spine. I lay dazed and frantically gasping for a mere second before I was pulled to my feet and shoved backwards. Sihtric stood in front of me, blocking me from a raging Kjartan who looked ready to rip me limb-from-limb regardless of the consequences.

“Move boy, or I will kill you both!”

“Lord, no! If you kill her it will anger the Gods and make true her words. I stop you  _ only  _ to protect you, Lord!” Sihtric said quickly.

A worried looking Storri stepped forward, joining Sihtric. “To kill her would bring the wrath of the Gods upon all our heads!”  

Kjartan paused, his rage-filled eyes burning me up. He stared at me for a second more before letting out an angry shout and turning away. “Sven, find a chain for the cage and a way to secure it. Take her from my sight boy, before I kill her. I wish to speak with Storri and Fiske alone.”

Sihtric hauled me out of that room so fast he practically gave me motion sickness. Really, that whole encounter could be summed up by me opening my dumb mouth, and people moving too fast for my incompetent brain to understand. Hand clasped tightly around my wrist, he dragged me through the doors and out into the open air. His brisk pace did not waver until he’d pulled me across the yard and up a flight of stone steps to the battlements. The Dane finally released me, and I turned to lean against the stone wall, eyes greedily taking in the countryside around us. When was the last time I’d seen anything green? With a snort, I remembered threatening the grass I’d been standing on when Sven first found me. I really needed to be nicer to the shrubbery.

“There is more to the world than Dunholm,” Sihtric snapped, his tone drawing my gaze to his face. “But you shall not see it if you insist on behaving this way.”

I looked away from him, feeling his frustration mirrored within me. I knew what he saw in me- a defenceless girl who lashed out when backed into a corner, wielding her anger as her only weapon. The very same reckless anger that was going to get her killed.

“You’re angry with me,” I stated pointlessly, preferring to talk about his emotions than mine.

“Of course I am! Did you truly believe by shouting at Kjartan he would set you free? All you have done is incurred his wrath. You are lucky he did not kill you.”

Now that just  _ wasn’t  _ true. Luck had nothing to do with it.

“Don’t be stupid,” I muttered, picking at the stone with my fingers. “We both know you saved my life in there.” I looked up, meeting his gaze. I felt both ashamed of my own bull-headed attitude, and unspeakably grateful. “Thank you. I’ll never be able to thank you enough, Sihtric.”

“You are most welcome, Lady.” He said with an incline of his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Though I would prefer it if my actions were not necessary.”

“Yeah, you and me both. I’m sorry for how I acted, Sihtric. I’m sorry you had to risk your own life because of my stupidity. But I just can’t  _ help it.  _ When I’m scared, I always seem to find something to get angry about, someone to give a little attitude to. It helps me handle the fear, though there are always consequences. I used to just take the consequences. Maybe that isn’t the best idea anymore.”  

He gave me a look that can only be described as:  _ no shit, Sherlock? _

“Kjartan may be more intelligent than Sven-”

“That doesn’t take much.”

“-but he still has a temper. Stop antagonising him.”

“You’re right,” I admitted. I did need to stop pushing Kjartan to, you know,  _ want to kill me  _ every time we spoke.

“Yes.”

I raised an eyebrow at how smug he sounded and glanced at him to find his face matched his tone. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself, pretty boy. I agreed that I should stop nearly getting myself killed. It’s hardly a revelation.”

“I am neither pretty nor a boy!”

“Oh, my dear, yes you are,” I laughed, reaching over to pluck at one of the long braids down the centre of his head. “Look how lovely and long your hair is!”

“My hair is none of your concern, and I am older than you.” Sihtric shot back, batting my hand away with a smile.

“I’m 23 you know?”

“I did not. I am 24, and so your elder. Where is your respect?”

I made a show of looking around me, even rolling the bottom of one mangy pyjama leg up to my knee. “I can’t seem to find it. Oh wait! It’s because it’s stuffed up your arse.”

Sihtric looked horrified and I burst into laughter at his expression. Seeming to realise it was a joke, he relaxed and laughed along with me.

“You have the most peculiar way of speaking. You are vulgar and use words I have never heard before. But it suits you.” Sihtric said, smiling gently at me in a way that had me feeling all fuzzy inside. Despite everything, despite this awful situation I’d found myself in, I’d also found a good friend in the Dane.

Quiet fell over us for a while, and I took the opportunity to take in every detail of the great expanse beyond the walls. After staring at the same walls and bars for weeks, I would never take the simple pleasure of a nice view for granted. Unfortunately, I could not simply stand here letting the world go by. I heard shuffling and saw Sihtric had turned, face grave. With a sense of dread, I knew what he was about to say.

“I must return you to your cell, Lady. Kjartan will have the cage ready soon, and he should not find you here.”

As much as I loathed the thought of returning to that damp, foul prison, I knew he was right. I was skating on thin ice after my behaviour earlier. We both were. Nodding my agreement, I took one last wistful look at the forest bordering the horizon before turning to follow Sihtric.

Sihtric had brought my lunch as usual, also bringing a situation update. It seemed the cage was ready. It was to be my new home in the day, where the men could draw courage from my presence. My nights would still be spent in my cell. Thyra was unhappy with the turn of events. I’d hoped my company had shone some light on her dark, traumatising life, and based on her deep frown I think it had. Hearing that we were to be parted for most of our waking hours did not sit well with her. But what could either of us do?

I knew that as soon as I finished my bread and that week’s mystery meat, Sihtric would have to take me to the cage. So, I lingered, taking a ridiculously long time to eat. He didn’t rush me, and neither he nor Thyra spoke a word. I think they were allowing me those last moments of peace. Unable to prolong the moment any longer, I swallowed a last chunk of grainy bread and chased it with the remains of the mug of water I’d been given.

Sihtric unlocked my door and made no move to stop me as I crossed the space to Thyra’s cell. Her hounds didn’t bark at me, recognising me as a friend of their master. Still, they clearly held no trust for me and watched me with an alarming intensity. Thyra gently climbed from her bed and walked to meet me, her hands slipping between the bars to grasp mine. I remembered the way she’d clutched at the very same bars the first time we met. Her knuckles had been white as she’d gripped the metal. I gave her hands a firm squeeze before finally meeting her gaze.

“Remember your resilience and hold your tongue, Adeline.” Even though this awful place had stripped her of her warmth, I still felt comforted by her words.

Thyra loosened her hold on one of my hands, instead reaching upwards to brush a greasy, almost dread locked piece of hair behind my ear. Her hand lingered a moment, and she gently ran her fingers down my face. She had no smile to offer me. I don’t think she was capable of such a thing anymore.

“Be brave,” she whispered, before stepping back.

I swallowed past the hard lump in my throat, feeling the familiar prickling at my eyes. Why did this feel like a goodbye? I would be brought back to sleep, so why did it feel like I would never see her again? Thyra has a heightened sensitivity to things that I can’t explain. Like how she’d known I would discuss all aspects of home other than  _ where  _ it was. And looking back, perhaps she knew what was coming.

I couldn’t look back at her as Sihtric led me away. I was too unsettled by the strange nature of our farewell and the weight it seemed to carry. Instead I focused on the back of the Dane’s armour, schooling my emotions and straightening my face ready to enter the hall. They would  _ not  _ see me crying.

The cage had indeed been set up. A heavy chain was looped through the ring on the top, then stretched to the ceiling where it was nestled between a large hook and the rafters. I followed its descent, and found it was tethered to the wooden floor with another hook. The hall was packed with men, most of which I’d never seen before. Sihtric and I would have no dramatic farewell in this company. Instead he pushed me roughly towards the cage, allowed me to climb inside, then slammed and bolted the lid. Which, by the way, was basically a trapdoor in reverse. Being locked in was a horrible claustrophobic feeling. I’d been locked in my cell of course, and I’d been in this very cage before too. But with dozens of eyes on me and bodies everywhere, I felt hemmed in and suffocated. Leaning back against the bars, I crossed my legs and closed my eyes, a futile attempt to block out the world around me and calm my racing heart.

A purposeful cough quietened the room, and I opened my eyes to see Kjartan stalking towards me. He paused alongside the cage, barely sparing me a glance before addressing his men.

“This is the woman you have heard of. She was found just beyond our walls and had no explanation to give. The sorcerer Storri has named her a gift from the Gods. She herself is cursed, but we are blessed to have her in our presence. She will bring us great fortune and glory in battle! With her here, we will know only victory!”   
  


As he finished, the Dane raised his… mug? On closer inspection it appeared to be a hollow horn, much fancier than what I’d been drinking from. He drained the horn of whatever alcoholic beverage was inside, his warriors cheering and mimicking the action.

“Storri has warned that to hurt her will bring us great misfortune, so no one is to harm her.”

There was a chorus of disgruntled murmurs, and even an outright yell of “Can we not see how she rides?” The implications of this sentence sent a violent shudder down my spine, and I suddenly felt the need to vomit.

“No. She is not to be harmed.” Kjartan repeated firmly.

_ A little hypocritical from a man who almost killed me this morning. But as this works in my favour, I don’t really care. _

“But speak to her how you see fit. If it were not for the intervention of the Gods, she would  be dead. She should not forget her place.”

_ Bastard.  _

“Raise the cage!”

I have no idea who spoke, but someone in the throng of North men shouted the request over the general cacophony of noise. This seemed like a popular opinion, because soon they were all chanting it like some freaky Viking-cult. Kjartan gave a quick nod, and with a jolt my cage was lifted. I glanced down, seeing a few burly men hauling on the chain. I began to feel queasy as the ground became further and further away, so I looked at my hands instead. A clanking sound above my head told me when the cage had hit the hook it was attached to. I risked a downward peek and found now I was stationary the feeling wasn’t so bad.

The chain had been fastened on the hook below. This was it. This was how I would spend my days. A prisoner in a cage, regarded as a gift but kept a captive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kind words. I was delighted to see how much you liked the first chapter, and I hope the second one didn't disappoint. 
> 
> Things are getting worse for Adeline- not that she helps herself! More characters from the show will be appearing in the next chapter. 
> 
> Word Count: 3519
> 
> Until next time loves :)


	3. Pheasant-gate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! 
> 
> This chapter is the reason this story has the rape/non-con tag. It is by no means an explicit description, but it does occur. If this sort of thing is going to be upsetting for you, please give this chapter a miss. I'm more than happy to send anyone a version of this chapter with the scene removed if you'd still like to read it. And if this chapter causes anyone any pain, I urge you to talk to someone. Again, I'm more than happy to be this person. If you'd like a little more professional help, the website below may be of some use. You can also contact your GP, or any guidance counsellor/nurse at your school, university of place of work. I love each and every one of you. 
> 
> https://rapecrisis.org.uk/

It had all been going so well. I’d listened to Sihtric and Thyra and had kept silent no matter what insult, or mead, was hurled at me. I bit my tongue as Kjartan’s men staggered around below my cage eat night, drunk on mead and looking for a rise from me. But weeks of being sent from cell to cage and back again had worn my resolve away. My time with Sihtric had been slashed, and Thyra had ceased speaking all togetherr. The majority of my human contact was provided by the lecherous _,_ foul mannered _toads_ that taunted me in the hall, and I snapped. But let me rewind. Let me tell you from the beginning.  

 

It was dusk and most of the light was lost from the sky. As seemed to be the way, the hall was packed and yet somehow _more_ men were pushing their way inside. Everyone was yelling over everyone else in an effort to be heard, and alcohol flowed like a river. Kjartan and Fiske were absent, likely having retreated somewhere a litter quieter. Sven had returned that morning from a slave sale, shaken up and wailing about a dead-horseman coming to collect his soul. Yes, slavery is a thriving business in the 9th Century, and yes, the idea made me _sick_. Kjartan hadn’t sounded convinced, but it had certainly unsettled him. So while the hall was as loud and boisterous as ever, the only man here with any sort of authority was Sven.

 

Having mead thrown at me was not unusual. I gritted my teeth as the third one that night was thrown at the cage. The horn ricocheted off the bars, with much of the contents finding its way inside. My pyjamas were already damp from the two previous attempts, so I barely felt the liquid as it seeped into my clothes. A few drops had landed on my cheek, so I brushed them away and stared resolutely ahead at the far wall. Clearly unimpressed that I hadn’t responded to his first gracious attempt at gaining my attention, the horn-thrower decided to use his way with words to charm me.

 

“Look down, ignorant whore!”

 

I was going to ignore him. Really.

 

“She will not answer you, Harold. Her spirit is broken. She is silent, and quiet mad.”

 

My head snapped downwards, allowing me to see Sven and a tall man with wild, dirty blonde hair and an even wilder beard. I hadn’t said a word since the cage was first raised. Maybe Sven really did think they’d subdued me, or maybe he was just baiting me. Either way, I was prideful, feeling reckless with the knowledge that Kjartan hard ordered his men not to harm me, and had lost _all_ of my patience.

 

“I’m not mad. I simply see _no_ reason to indulge the pigs when they squeal.”

 

The few men close enough to hear me laughed uproariously, and Sven’s face darkened. His eye narrowed as he glared, pointing a finger up at my cage. “My father warned you. You will be quiet or you will regret it!”

 

“Don’t make empty threats, Sven. We both know you can’t hurt me. You look like a child waving a wooden sword. _You can’t hurt me._ So shut up, and get the _fuck_ away from me!”

 

The one-eyed madman looked like he was about to burst as he barked the names of a few men and spun around, deftly unhooking the cage’s chain.

 

_Oh shit._

 

They’d lowered it in seconds, taking no care and simply dropping the chain once the cage was within a few feet of the floor. The impact jarred my bones and slammed my teeth together, slicing into my tongue. I hissed in pain and levelled Sven with a murderous glare. He leaned in close, pressing his face right up to the bars.

 

“Do not insult me! I will make your life a misery!”

 

“Don’t lean so close. Your breath alone may kill me and _then_ what would your father say?”

 

Sven’s face twitched and I wondered for a second if he was having a stroke, before he let out a yell of such volume I flinched backwards. As I did so, my right hand brushed the plate containing the remains of my half-eaten lunch.

 

_Stupid._

 

The second I did it, I knew it was a mistake. But I hadn’t won ‘most likely to get fired’ at high school for my calm demeanor and rational thinking.

 

_Stupid._

 

I snatched the pheasant leg from my plate and rammed it into Sven’s gaping mouth.

 

_Stupid._

 

I was saved by Kjartan choosing that _exact_ moment to make a dramatic entrance. He flung open the door to the hall and stopped, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of my cage on the floor. Not wanting his father to see him with poultry stuffed in his mouth, the one-eyed man quickly threw it to one side.

 

“Sven. Why have you lowered the cage?”

 

“She offered me insult, talking in that incomprehensible was of hers!”  Sven explained quickly, voice hard and hands balled into fists.

 

“She is nothing. Ignore her,” Kjartan said dismissively, prompting sputtering noises from Sven.

 

_Yes, because you’ve never once gotten angry at me, have you?_

 

“She-”

 

“Ignore her! We have more pressing matters to discuss. With me.”

 

Sven turned to give me a chilling look, one that promised dark things, before following his father. That look left me with the sinking feeling I’d just made my biggest mistake yet. _Shit._

 

TLK TLK TLK

 

I found out what was so important to Kjartan the very next day, and it certainly explained why he’d been too preoccupied to care about my latest display of self-destructive behaviour. I was privy to most of the comings and goings of Dunholm- Kjartan wanted me present for all important meetings so I could bring them their Gods’ favour.

 

Do you remember Ragnar, Kjartan’s sworn lord, the one he burnt alive in his own hall? Well, it turns out Ragnar’s adopted Saxon son, Uhtred, hadn’t died in the fire. Kjartan suspected _he_ was the masked rider from the slave sale, because one of the freed slaves now ruled Cumbraland with Uhtred as commander of his household guard. Medieval England? More like _Coronation Street_. A small group of men were to travel to Cumbraland and swear fealty to King Guthred, before kidnapping Uhtred and bringing him back to Dunholm. The men were to leave that night, and to my despair, Sihtric was one of them.

 

It wasn’t until I was returned to the cell that night, Sihtric’s last task before he was to leave, that we were able to talk. I paused before stepping behind the bard and turned to face him. Unless I _really_ try I have a lousy poker-face, so I’m certain he could see how upset I was. The crying was probably a bit of a giveaway, too. I pressed my face into his shoulder, taking comfort from the feeling familiar leather armour he always wore against my skin.

 

“I’m gonna miss you.”

 

“And I you.”

 

“Be careful in Cumbraland. Come back in one piece, and don’t do anything stupid. Please?” I beseeched him, leaning back to meet his eyes.

 

“I am not the one known for stupidity.”

 

I rolled my eyes, a watery smile coming to my own face. “Who knows when you’ll be back? You may be without my _wonderful_ company for weeks. Be nice!”

 

This had an unintended cooling effect on Sihtric. He’d been smiling with me, if only lightly, but the expression was soon wiped away. “I do not leave by choice. I… worry for you. You have a tendency for trouble, often of your own making.”

 

“Oh, don’t waste your worrying on me. I’ve seen you with a sword and I for one am _not_ confident in your ability to defend yourself! It’s _you_ we should be worried about!”

 

I hadn’t seen him fight, of course. How could I have done from below the ground? But I was desperate to say _anything_ to make us smile again, to hold onto any happiness I had left. My attempts were futile. I stood there with shaking hands and salty cheeks, sobbing uncontrollably.

 

Thyra hadn’t spoken a word since the first day I’d been taken away. She’d retreated into herself and her expression was always the same- haunted. I was terrified that she was losing her last hold on her sanity. That left Sihtric as the only kind face at Dunholm. I’d met him that first day, what seemed like an eternity ago, and he’d always been there. He was my friend, and I _needed_ him. But it seemed fate, the Gods, God, chance, whatever power had dominion over our world, didn’t care for what I needed. _Fuck,_ would I ever see him again? What if Uhtred or Guthred saw through their ruse and killed them? What is Kjartan grew sick of me and killed _me_? This could be the last time we ever spoke.

 

I’d watched Thyra deteriorate before my eyes- would that happen to me when Sihtric left?

 

My knees felt weak and my head was spinning and then suddenly I was in a pile on the floor. Sihtric knelt in front of me, seemingly at a loss for what to do. What could he do?

 

Then he pressed his forehead against mine, and took my hands in his. “Adeline. When people look at me, they see Kjartan’s bastard. You see _me._ You are my only friend and I swear to you I will return. And one day, I will free you.”

 

He sounded so determined, so completely and utterly _certain_ , that I couldn’t help but believe him. Honestly, I was so distraught I was happy to go along with anything he said. So I nodded rapidly as we lent backwards, wondering if we were just deluding ourselves as I rubbed the tears from my cheeks. Sihtric pulled me carefully to my feet and led me to my cell. I flopped down into the straw, feeling hollow after the emotional rollercoaster of the day.

My friend sat with me for as long as he could without raising suspicion. No more words were exchanged.

 

TLK TLK TLK

 

Without Sihtric, things went rapidly downhill. A new man was assigned to escort me to and from my cage each day, and he seemed to think I wasn’t worth the dirt we walked on. He wasn’t cruel to me, instead he shoved me from point A to point B without a word, growling viciously if I attempted to make conversation. He was as hairy and foul-smelling as the rest of them, and I made no effort to learn his name.

 

Another unwelcome addition to my life was Harold. He’d been the one to throw the mead that had sparked pheasant-gate, and the more I heard him speak, the more I was convinced he’d been the one asking about ‘riding me’ the first day I was caged in the hall. He was also best buds with Sven and that meant even when only the inner circle were in the hall, he was present. He always made a disturbing remark of some kind, and his lingering gaze was as disconcerting as his comments.

 

I’d lost count of the days Sihtric had been absent when what I’d been silently dreading occured. I got my period. I was certain I’d been at Dunholm for far longer than a month at this point, and I blamed the late timing on stress and fear playing havoc with my hormones. But mother nature was done with waiting, and I woke up one cold morning with painful cramps. With no other fabric or cloth to hand, I resorted to ripping off the fraying ends of my sleeves and using those. On the same day, I finally heard news of Sihtric’s party: Uhtred had placed their heads on pikes outside the gates some time during the night. My fears that they would be discovered had been realised. To my undying relief they were one head short, and when the names of the fallen were toasted that evening, Sihtric’s was not among them. I had _no_ idea what had happened to him, but I could only hope he had escaped Cumbraland and was somehow still alive.

 

In celebration of their deceased comrades, the men drank excessively, swore loudly and bothered me more than usual. Harold in particular. Judging by the way his body swayed he’d had more than enough to drink as he stood below my cage, calling insults at me in an attempt to have me look at him. After the last time, I had _no_ intentions of giving him the pleasure. The awful words rang in my ears. His threats sounded more like promises and shook me to my core. The disgust and sickness I felt hearing those things became too much, and I curled up into a ball, burying my face in my hands and trying to block him out.

 

Eventually he stopped cursing me, and instead raised his voice for one last taunt. “That’s twice you’ve ignored me, bitch. I will make you regret it.”

 

I heard no more from him, and after a while dared to peep below me. He was gone. I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling lighter now I was out of his company. Even though I was high above him, out of reach, I _always_ felt endangered in his presence.

 

As if my night couldn’t get any worse, I heard Sven’s distinct voice above the crowd as he surged forward, horn of mead in hand and faced flushed with alcohol consumption.

 

“I have not forgotten the way you embarrassed me, woman!”

 

 _Wonderful._ With daddy absent (he’d disappeared after the initial toast with Fiske, likely to figure out what the _hell_ they were going to do now their men had returned without their bodies) and mead-loosened lips, he was bringing up the pheasant incident. I had no idea how to diffuse the situation. If I answered him I had no doubt I would manage to insult him (it was rather hard to resist), but if I stayed quiet I was certain that would also enrage him. In the end I blurted an apology, which was _stupid_ because it held no sincerity and we both knew it. It seemed I couldn’t escape my own foolish behaviour even when I tried.

 

Sven heard my apology. And he smiled. It sent a chill through me, my body jolting and my blood running ice cold.

 

“Yes. I think you will be.”

 

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and suddenly my brain was screaming _run run RUN._ I scrambled backwards uselessly, back smacking into the cage and rocking it, flight instincts in overdrive with nowhere to go. Sven just laughed and tripped over his own feet as he walked away from me.

 

The party carried on well into the night, and I was left with Sven’s words in my ears and his _smile_ seared into my mind. I will never forget the way he’d looked at me. When the mead began to catch up with the men and they began to fall asleep in their chairs, I felt the familiar lurch of my cage being unhooked. The usual routine of my guard swinging the lid open and watching me in silence as I climbed out occured, and then he was leading me through the unconscious men and back to the relative safety of my cell. When did a _cell_ become my definition of safety? I was equally as exhausted as the men, their boisterous revelry keeping me from getting any sleep, so the moment I was in the cell I collapsed in the straw and passed out.

 

TLK TLK TLK

 

I was not allowed to sleep through the night. I woke suddenly to find myself being dragged to my feet, bleary eyes blinking rapidly to try and make sense of what was happening. The only light came from a few feeble candles, but it was enough. Enough to see that Sven and Harold were standing in front of me.

 

“Good evening, Lady.” Harold sneered.

 

Sven was twirling a set of keys around his finger. “I said you would be sorry.”

 

Suddenly I was wide awake. I looked frantically between the two men, body slipping into panic mode as I began to hyperventilate. I made a desperate bid for freedom, throwing myself to Harold’s left and towards the door, but his rough hands grabbed me and hauled me towards him. I pulled and tugged at his grip, shrieking and hurling curses at him. One thick arm wrapped around my waist and pinned me to his front, trapping me in place. I could _feel_ his hot breath on my neck and as his other hand trailed up my body, I froze. His hand lingered too long as it moved, before settling around my neck.

 

“You sure you don’t want to share her, Sven?”

 

This renewed my attempts to resist. I threw my elbows backwards into his chest, kicked at his shins and turned my head down to gnaw at his hand, screaming bloody murder the entire time. My efforts seemed only to annoy Harold as opposed to causing him harm. He shoved me forwards and punched me in the face with enough strength to send me flying to the floor. The pain was burning hot and agonising, the blow forceful enough to make me dizzy. My scrambling brain was stuck somewhere between screaming at me to run and rendering me motionless.

 

“No. She is ugly and she is cursed. Keep her.”

 

Sven left.

 

I will not tell you anything more. He raped me. I fought as much as I could. It was the worst night of my life.

 

TLK TLK TLK

 

I did not deal with what had happened to me. I couldn’t. I could barely even think about it, never mind face it. I repressed it, buried it, and tried for all the world to act like it hadn’t happened. My nightmares liked to remind me that it had, shifting from monsters from my old world to the monsters in this one. The days raced by, flying into weeks, then months. Kjartan had found out about Harold, and he’d been severely punished along with my guard, who’d apparently been happy to hand over the keys. It never happened again. I spent the majority of my time asleep, or dazed. I made no effort to focus on the world around me anymore. Every now and then Sven would say something, allude to that night. I would feel hot and even a little bit angry. But it was a ghost of the rage I used to feel. It barely made me raise my head from it’s permanent position on the floor. Unless I was being dragged somewhere, I stayed lying down. It took less energy than sitting.

 

I was torn. Part of me honestly, _truly_ no longer cared what happened to me. In scattered, reckless moments of self-destructive thinking I planned what I could say to Kjartan, or Sven, to make them kill me. But in other moments I was so terrified I couldn’t speak, eat, or sleep. I would just lie there, too afraid to even _look_ at anyone in case it happened again.

 

There were times when the hall was empty, and if you’re wondering why I never unbolted the cage and made a break for it, let me explain. I tried once, long ago before Sihtric left. The hall was empty, so I slid the bolt across with no trouble, hands shaking as I contemplated what I was about to do. This was my chance. My cage was suspended high in the air, and no doubt I’d incur some sort of injury from the fall. I’d probably break something. It might even kill me. But at this point, I was willing to take that risk. Death or freedom- both were preferable to my current situation. So I steeled myself, and pushed on the lid with all my might. Except nothing happened. Seeing how easily everyone handled the trapdoor had fooled me into thinking I could open it. Not only was I at the wrong angle, making it much harder to lift for anyone, but any strength I had in my arms before had faded with their lack of use.

 

Thyra had gone completely mad. She hadn’t acknowledged my existence since our goodbye so long ago, and I now understood why it had felt so painful. It truly had been a last farewell. She spoke to herself in her sleep, and as I was so often forced into consciousness by dark dreams, I heard her. She would insist she had no brothers, and seemed to be arguing with someone about it. Then she would start screaming and wake herself up. I was under no illusions of how she’d been treated while she was here. She’d had it far worse than I had, and I wasn’t surprised it had shattered her. I dearly wished there was something, anything I could do. But those days spent discussing our families felt like another life, and I knew such talk would no longer be welcome. She denied her family, as I denied that night. If she’d brought it up, because surely she must have heard… well, I’m certain that would have ended me. She didn’t though, and I did her the same courtesy.  

 

It was at the lowest point in my life when everything changed once more.

 

There was fighting outside. Kjartan was barking orders, the men were shouting, and every few seconds the sound of wood crashing against wood. My grip on the bars turned white knuckled, my breathing panicky and quick. Was someone attacking? What would that mean for me? If Dunholm was able to fend off the threat, nothing would change. But if Kjartan was killed? Maybe they would release me. Or perhaps they would kill me, seeing me as worthless if I couldn’t secure victory for the former Lord.

 

The sound of steel on steel. The cries and screams were much closer now. The steady beat of whatever was being used on the gate was still there in the background. I saw a blur of movement outside the open hall door as someone rushed past. I barely caught a glimpse, my view too fleeting to determine whether they were a defender or an attacker. Did it matter? I didn’t know who I wanted to succeed. I retreated to my usual, curled up position and squeezed my eyes shut, feeling terrified and overwhelmed.

 

Kjartan was yelling, calling someone ‘Baby Ragnar’. There was a shout for them to form a square, and as the sounds of swords once more sang in the air, I assumed they were fighting. Ragnar’s son was here? I could only assume _he_ had led the attack, finally seeking vengeance for his family. From the little Sihtric had heard of Ragnar, it was said he was as good and fair a Dane as you would find. And he had more reason to hate Kjartan than anyone else. I couldn’t stop the hope that blossomed in my chest, the tight, nauseous feeling of anticipating that curled in my stomach. I couldn’t stop myself from daring to dream that there was _finally_ a chance of freedom.

 

A mighty cheer erupted from the crowd. Men were chanting, someone was screaming ‘yes’, and a sound new to me yet somehow known met my ears. Steel slicing through flesh. Over and over and over.

 

“Ragnar! It’s over. It’s over.”

 

So Ragnar was still alive. That meant he’d won. Kjartan was dead. The man who had imprisoned me and stripped me of any desire to live. Dead. I sat upright and burst into crazy, hysterical laughter, gasping and sobbing. I heard hounds barking and more raised voices, and I figured Thyra had somehow gotten free of her cell. Good. While I was certain the sight of the man she claimed didn’t exist would further crack her damaged psyche, at least she would be safe. And surely, seeing the state this place had reduced his sister too, Ragnar would have some sympathy for my plight? At the very least, _surely_ , he would allow me to go free?

 

Sihtric appeared at the doorway, and I swear my heart stopped. Was I hallucinating? Had I finally gone mad? How the _fuck_ could he be here? Some emotion I couldn’t understand flashed across his face and he was gone as soon as he arrived, sprinting away and yelling “UHTRED!” at the top of his lungs. Uhtred? It seemed Lord Ragnar’s adoptive son had aided his brother in the attack on Dunholm. But why was Sihtric calling for him? Nothing made sense, nothing seemed _real._

 

A group of men and a woman came flying into the hall behind Sihtric, wasting no time in racing over to the chain and unhooking it. I let out a whimper as the cage rocked and began to descend. I didn’t _understand._ My friend was gone. Lost. His head hadn’t been staked along with the others so surely _if_ he was alive, he was on the run. Not _here._ Uhtred would want him dead. Sihtric _could not_ be here. I buried my head in my hands, shutting out the madness around me.

 

_Thunk._

 

With more care than ever before, the cage was lowered to the floor.

 

“Adeline?”

 

I flinched at hearing Sihtric’s voice so close. I raised my head enough to see him standing right in front of me, and was unable to stop my body from pressing backwards. He took another step, leaning over me. My muscles were clenched, my back pressed almost painfully against the bars behind me. He opened the cage carefully, keeping his movements steady, treating me like a frightened animal ready to bolt. It was all so much, all at once.

 

Thankfully, Sihtric backed away once he’d unbolted and swung open the lid. He stood a few paces away, watching me with a pained expression. I glanced above me, taking in the open air. All I had to do to be free was stand up and climb out. Reaching upwards with shaking arms, I grasped the cold metal rim and pulled myself up. As I’d done so many times before, I scrambled my way out with _no_ elegance. My bare feet, the same colour as dirt at this point, hit the floor, and for a second I let my gaze linger there.

 

_I’m free._

 

I heard shuffling in front of me and had jumped backwards before I’d even looked up to see who’d moved. The woman had taken a step towards me, her hands held up in the universal gesture for peace. The front of her blonde hair was pulled back from her face by twists that ran along her head, the bottom half loose. She worse both armour and a large cross, and had a sword strapped to her waist.

 

“We mean you no harm.”

 

I wanted to believe her. She was with Sihtric, who deep down I _knew_ wouldn’t hurt me. I watched her carefully for a moment, trying to figure her out. Her demeanor was calm and eyes _seemed_ honest. And while your face could be arranged to your liking, the eyes rarely lied. Slowly I inched towards her, eyes darting from her to the men behind her, wary of any motion.

 

“My name is Hild,” she introduced herself, her soft voice a soothing balm to my weary bones.

 

She held her hand out, palm up. An offer. As if I was her equal. Desperate to feel touch that wasn’t meant to hurt, I took it. She squeezed my filthy hand, smiling fully. She was beautiful.

 

“And you are?”

 

_Oh._

 

Could I even introduce myself as Adeline anymore? I wasn’t sure I still deserved that name. I didn’t feel like me. My skin itched and felt foreign. I wanted so _badly_ to tell her my name and thank her for her help. I wanted to walk over to Sihtric and hug my friend, because he was here and he was _alive_ and we were _both_ free of Kjartan. But my throat wouldn’t form the words, and my legs wouldn’t move.

 

A loud clatter outside drew my attention, gaze snapping towards the source of noise and body tensing for danger. I could see much more of the courtyard from my place on the floor, and now I saw a group of men, bound and sat against the wall. Kjartan’s surviving men no doubt.

 

Harold was among them.  

 

My scattered and confused mind suddenly felt clear. A cool focus settled over me as I dropped Hild’s hand, stepped around her, and walked outside. The noise had came from other men dropping the weapons of the defeated into a huge pile against the hall’s outer wall, and this pile was my destination now. I grasped the handle closest to me, pulling on it sharply until the sword it was attached to slid free. The blood on the hilt quickly coated my hand, but I paid it no mind. It wasn’t until I was standing in front of a kneeling Harold, weapon in hand, nostrils flaring, that some semblance of thought returned to me. Was I really going to do this? Was I _capable_ of it?

 

“What are you going to do with that?” Harold asked, laughing and shaking his head. “You are broken. Put it down before you hurt yourself.”

 

I was pulled back to the last time someone said that. That day in the cage, where Sven had stood below me and branded me with the same insult. That word was like a trigger, and I felt the old anger, the _fury_ , seep into my blood. For just a moment, I felt like the woman I used to be again. I lifted the sword to press the tip against his neck. The weapon was heavy, but adrenaline had lent me strength.

 

“You could _never_ break me.”

 

The sword slid into his neck and out the other side with little resistance. Blood splashed my face and mouth, the metallic taste hitting my tongue. I ripped the sword free and yet _more_ blood splattered my skin and the rags my clothes had become. Harold pitched forwards and his body hit the ground with a dull thud, the only sound to interrupt the eerie silence that had settled.

 

The moment passed. The weapon dropped from my limp hand, the weight of what I’d just done settling over me.

 

_I killed someone._

 

I was shaking all over, the adrenaline having ran its course.

 

_I  took a life._

 

My body seemed torn between fainting and throwing up. I felt dizzy and nauseous all at once, my vision narrowing dangerously as I took in the corpse in front of me. It wasn’t that I regretted my decision, and I didn’t even want to _consider_ what that said about my character. It was just the complete and utter shock that I’d actually _done it._ He had been alive, would still be, if it wasn’t for me. The feeling that came from that left me ice cold, and was impossible to put into words.

 

There was shouting from someone, somewhere, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t aware of the audience behind me, but later I was told Hild, Sihtric and their companions had seen everything. Sihtric had placated the man tasked with guarding the prisoners, one of which I’d just killed in cold blood.

 

After that, I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. Other than those first few minutes of sitting in a damp field wondering where the hell I was, I’d been a captive the entire time I’d been here. Feeling lost and engulfed by my thoughts, I wandered away from the shocked faces of the remaining chained men. I found a quiet corner of the courtyard tucked away around the side of a building, and slumped to the ground.

 

I could barely pick through the tangled mess of thoughts and feelings in my head. I was thankful to be free, and somewhere I knew I was supposed to be happy about it. But happiness wasn’t a familiar concept to me anymore. It tasted strange, and I didn’t know how it was supposed to work with the memories of Dunholm hanging over me. Who was I now? What was left of me? I had no idea how to live here and no idea where my place was.

 

I sat there for hours, watching the sun set and inky darkness take over the sky. I kept my gaze trained on the stars, the remnants of explosions a billion miles away, the light finally reaching us long after their deaths. The stars had always been a comfort to me. The mechanics of our universe, so poorly understood, mapped out across the nights sky. It was humbling to consider our own world in the grand scheme of things. We were so small, humanity itself just a sentence in the tale of time.

 

When it was cold enough for the air to bite at my skin, Hild approached me. She invited me to sleep in one of the barns with her, assuring me that it would be just the two of us. I nodded, and followed her wordlessly. It was my first night falling asleep as a free woman, but it didn’t feel glorious like I’d always dreamed it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the darkest by a hundred miles, and honestly it was horrible to write. I know Adeline seems subdued and not herself, but you can't expect her to just bounce back like nothing happened. She's only human. But she's strong, she will recover, and I can assure you the entire story won't be this dark. 
> 
> Despite the tone I hope you still found this chapter satisfying. Please do let me know what you thought! And again, I know I'm just a face behind a screen but if you require it I'm happy to talk. 
> 
> Until next time loves.


	4. Dishonour On Your Cow

When I eventually woke up, the duskiness outside suggested I’d slept for nearly 24 hours. Hild appeared after a little while, presenting me with a loaf of bread and an apple. After I’d demolished the food, she suggested we head for the stream beyond the fortress so I could wash. I knew I was filthy, but until now it’d been pushed to the back of my mind, buried under more pressing problems. My hands were coated in blood, more dirt visible than skin. My pyjamas reeked, were stained with alcohol and ripped. Now my attention was drawn to the state I was in, I wanted nothing more than wash it all away. Wash the _memories_ away.

 

So off to the stream we went.

 

Once we’d arrived, Hild deposited her knapsack on the bank and sat down.

 

“Take your time,” she assured me with a smile, before turning around.

 

I stripped my vile clothing and dumped it on the bank, leaving only my underwear on, and waded into the water. It was _beyond_ cold. The stream was shallow, so I crouched, then sat, the water now reaching my waist. I reached behind me to try and undo my hair. I’d pulled it back into a bun with the hair-tie i always kept on my wrist (yes, even while asleep) back when I’d first been captured. A few of the shorter strands had fallen loose around the front and almost formed dreadlocks. The rest was now a tangled mess on the back of my head. After a moment of fiddling, it appeared my hair had _eaten_ the tie. I eventually worked it free and slipped it back onto my wrist.  It was a relief to have my hair loose again, and I ran my own hands through it to massage my sore scalp. I pinched my nose, leant backwards and soaked my hair. I hovered under for a few moments before sitting up again.

 

Using my hands, I slowly began to scrub at my arms, marvelling as pink skin began to emerge. I repeated the process for my entire body. The amount of dirt, sweat and grime floating away from me was truly impressive, and I didn’t even want to _consider_ how awful I must have looked. Luckily the stream was flowing, carrying away the evidence.

 

Watching the stream carry away the filth of Dunholm was cathartic. I held out my spotless hands, turning them over a few times. They looked a little more familiar now. They didn’t _look_ broken. It felt like that word was following me, _stalking me_ ever since Sven had so carelessly used it. Twice now I’d insisted it wasn’t true, but here I sat. I hadn’t spoken, other than before I _killed_ a man, and couldn’t stop myself from reacting to friendly faces like a threat. I looked down to the water’s surface, taking in my reflection. I saw a woman with long brown hair, usually dark but almost black when wet, and equally dark eyes. That woman was me, and I’d promised myself I would never give in. Where along the line had I stopped honouring that?  

 

I had to try. I couldn’t let ghosts hold dominion over me for the rest of my life. _I wouldn’t._

 

Hild was still sat on the bank. I felt a rush of affection for this new person who’d stormed into my life. She’d helped to rescue me, given me somewhere safe to sleep, fed me, and now waited patiently for me to transform from farm animal to human. She didn’t _know_ me, and yet she’d shown me such kindness.  

 

I coughed to clear my throat, before addressing her in the strongest voice I could. “Thanks for your help, Hild. I’m Adeline.”

 

TLK TLK TLK

 

When we returned to the fortress, fires had been lit in metal basins to provide light and warmth. Groups were settled around each, talking and drinking. Sihtric and the men from yesterday were gathered around one, laughing loudly at something.

 

Hild turned to me. “Will you join us?”

 

I nodded, swallowing my nerves and searching for the courage it used to be so easy to find.

 

As we made our way over I saw the familiar outline of Sihtric’s form turned towards the flames. Our approach drew the attention of most of the group, but I only had eyes for my friend. He was watching me apprehensively, hands twitching and face worried. I stopped just before him, unable to quite close the gap. _This was Sihtric._ This was safe. I took a deep breath, steadying myself and forcing down the horrible, sick feeling in my stomach. _I could do this._ I took the final step and wrapped Sihtric in a hug before I could lose my nerve. He froze for a second, probably shocked after how I’d acted yesterday, before returning the gesture. We stayed like that for a moment, enjoying the reunion we should have had before. His arms tightened around me and I stiffened, pulling back immediately.

 

Before I had the chance to say _anything_ , the Dane had dropped to one knee in front of me.

 

_Bloody hell. He’s not proposing is he?_

 

“It will please you to know Kjartan and Sven are dead. I swore to you once I would free you, and now that oath is fulfilled I wish to make another one. You are far from home. Stay with us. I swear to you I will protect you, for however long you desire it.”

 

In the earlier days, when I spent all day in my cell talking with a still-partially-sane-Thyra and Sihtric, I’d told them how scared I was about the outside world. They knew that this wasn’t my home, and sometimes, my fear of leaving Dunholm exceeded my fear of being trapped there. Outside these walls was _9th Century England._ And here he was, offering me not only a place to belong but his protection. Just like Hild, his kindness was a stark contrast to the past few months. It was warm and comforting and I wanted to feel normal again _so badly._ I latched onto the feeling, trying to resurrect the easy teasing that used to colour our conversations.

 

“I’ve seen you practising, remember? You couldn’t defend yourself from a gentle wind.”

 

“You would insult a man swearing himself to you?” Sihtric shot back, grinning.

 

“Only if that man is you. I can’t let you forget what a spork you are.”

 

“I have missed your nonsensical talk.”

 

It felt strange to talk so lightly again, but a _good_ kind of strange. Sihtric was still kneeling in front of me though, and I realised I had to formally accept his ‘oath’.

 

“I accept your offer, Sihtric.”

 

This seemed to be what the Dane was waiting for, because he stood up as soon as I finished speaking.

 

“Hold on- you said us. Who is ‘us’?”

 

Curiosity has gotten the better of me, and I wanted to know who he travelled with, who the group of men who had helped to free me were. Before Sihtric could fill me in, another Dane stepped forward. He moved quickly and I tensed, taking a hurried step backwards. This made the newcome pause, and he stopped beside Sihtric, half a pace back. His dark hair was loose and wild, his equally dark eyes lined in charcoal. He looked scruffy, but there was no denying how handsome he was.

 

“I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg. It is with _me_ and _my_ men Sihtric offers you a home.” He said, raising an eyebrow at Sihtric. The young man cowed, seemingly realising what he’d offered may not have been _his_ to offer. Then Uhtred offered me a smile. “We will not see you abandoned. You are welcome.”

 

“Thank you. Lord.” I added quickly, remembering the courtesy a moment later.

 

“I see you are acquainted with the Hild the warrior nun, the most feared woman in Wessex!” Hild sighed, giving Uhtred a fondly exasperated look. “Sit down.”

 

He beckoned us forward, and after receiving an encouraging nod from Hild, I closed the last few steps to the fire. Those gathered were sat on logs or simply stretched out on the floor, and it gave the whole thing a more relaxed vibe. Sihtric and Uhtred had reclaimed their respective places. The ‘warrior nun’ as Uhtred dubbed her had sat on the floor next to a bald man with a _fantastic_ white moustache, leaving plenty of room to her right. I sat down, far less elegantly may I add, nearly tripping over the excessive fabric of my dress in the process. Hild had kept the thing stashed away in the medieval-handbag she’d taken to the river. Apart from the cumbersome nature of it, and the slight scratchiness of the fabric, I didn’t mind it too much. It was a simple dark green affair, with a little red and white stitching around the wide sleeves and neckline, and a white rope around the waist.

 

I glanced around the loosely arranged circle. I’d accepted Sihtric’s offer, meaning  I would be spending a lot of time with these people. I wanted to know their names and their stories. I wanted to know who they were. So why was it so hard to speak up and draw attention to myself? Nothing bad was going to happen if I opened my mouth. Not anymore. Still, the conversations around me drifted on for a good while before I finally said something.  

 

“I’m Adeline. I can never thank you all enough for yesterday. Neither Sihtric nor your Lord has introduced you. Sihtric is simply dense, though I’m not sure what Uhtred’s excuse is.”

 

_Remove foot from mouth._

 

Sihtric sputtered some sort of rebuttal from across the fire, but it was drowned out by the group’s laughter. Uhtred was laughing too, which was good, because I’d sort of implied he was stupid.

 

“Uhtred is forgetful in his old age. I am Finan,” the man sitting to my right teased, speaking with an obvious Irish accent.

 

_Holy shit._

 

I won’t waste your time by skating around the subject- he was gorgeous. His long, dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, showing off a smirk that seemed _very_ at home on his face. His eyes were fathomless, deep brown depths that sparked with mischief but held more than that, things I couldn’t begin to comprehend. Like the Lord, he looked rather worse for wear than the others and I had to wonder if it was due to the battle, or something else.

 

I’d been quiet for too long. Bollocks. I needed to sound cool and confident. I needed to say something, anything, to draw the attention away from my _blatant_ staring.

 

“How did you remember your own name, then? You look older than Uhtred.”

 

_Anything but that._

 

“If ya wish to know our ages as potential suitors, the Lord already has a woman.” Finan responded with a smirk, not missing a beat.

 

“Adeline is _trying_ to be nice. She hides beneath her poor manners,” Sihtric cut me off as I was about to reply.

 

“Oh be quiet, _mother._ ”

 

No-one seemed to know how to react to that, other than Sihtric who was used to it and laughed. I suppose my modern mannerisms, and general inability to say anything appropriate were a little jarring to them.

 

“Have I offended ya?”

 

Finan was watching me with a raised eyebrow. He’d seemed entertained by my reply intiatally, but I couldn’t risk alienating this new acquaintance more than I already might have done. So I swallowed my pride and responded to his question at face value. “Of course not! I was only joking, but I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

 

“Her manners are not altogether lost, Sihtric.”

 

He’d dropped all pretenses of seriousness, clearly having proved his point. I couldn’t be annoyed though. His grin was too infectious, and I found myself smiling too. Like when I’d joked with Sihtric, this _helped._ It was merely a distraction, but after so long alone with my thoughts it was _beyond_ welcome. I pushed myself to keep talking.

 

“It’s good to meet you, Finan.”

 

You know, the appropriate response to meeting someone instead of _insulting them_.

 

I eyed him for a moment, before making a decision. When I wasn’t taken by surprise, when it was _my choice,_ touching someone didn’t seem quite so daunting. I held out my hand, expecting him to shake it. He didn’t. He stared at it, looking confused. Oh shit. Had handshakes been invented yet?

 

“It’s a handshake. You shake my hand. It’s a custom… of my people.”  


_It’ll be England’s custom, one day. Hold on. This isn’t the origin of the handshake, is it? Is this a paradox? Nope, nope, nopety nope we’re_ not _going down that route. Brain, reverse please._

 

Finan quirked an eyebrow but obliged me. He took hold of my fingers and shook my hand from side to side. Despite this whole thing being my idea, the contact still unnerved me a little. But the feeling was overpowered by my own amusement. I smiled and shook my head, before demonstrating the proper motion.

 

“The name is misleadin!”

 

That even drew a small laugh out of me.

 

After that, I was finally introduced to the other people present. I met Clapa, the huge man-mountain sitting next to Hild; Steapa, who seemed quiet but gave me a smile; Ragnar, who sported an impressive (and distracting) tattoo on his forehead and Brida, a woman I could tell was not to be trifled with. Uhtred had butted in, saying that she was Ragnar’s woman, and she’d responded by telling me Ragnar was _her_ man. I believed her.

 

With the introductions out of the way, the group settled into what I presume they were doing before I arrived - telling stories. Finan led with a tale involving a himself, a wooden bowl, a corset and a chicken. Yeah, go figure. The company was good, and yes, I still jumped at _every_ loud noise or sudden movement around us, but I was as settled as could be expected. It was then I realised with a jolt that Thyra wasn’t with us.

 

“Where’s Thyra?” I blurted out, cutting across whoever had been talking. I felt momentarily guilty, but my concern for the Dane over-rode it.

 

Uhtred shared a heavy look with Ragnar before replying. “You know of Thyra?”

 

 “Yes!” I nodded, alarmed by their grave expressions. “Is she okay? Why isn’t she sitting with you all?”

 

“She blames us.” Uhtred said slowly. “She is angry that we left her here. For a long time, we believed her dead. Now we have found her, and she is hardly alive.”  

 

“I know Thyra seems lost right now, but she isn’t. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever met.” I repeated what I’d told her the first day we’d met. If anything, it was truer now than then. “She’s survived, and she _will_ recover. She just needs time.”  

 

I don’t know if the words of a stranger really helped, but what I’d spoken was the truth. The mood picked back up again after that, and as the night wore on, I found myself laughing readily as various members of the group told funny anecdotes from their pasts. The more I laughed, the lighter I felt.

 

At one point Uhtred had pushed a horn of mead into my hand with a smirk. I glanced at the alcohol. I didn’t want anything clouding my judgment. I couldn’t quite banish the thought that _someone_ might try _something_ , and I wanted to be ready. I’d always been able to handle my drink well though. I thanked three years of university and nights that really should have hospitalised us for that. While joining in with the conversation was a fair distraction, surely a little alcohol would further help me to distance myself from my thoughts? I was sure I could drink one cup without doing any damage.

 

I asked so many questions that night, wanting to learn as much as I could. Uhtred told me about his ancestral home, Bebbanburg, and how he’d came to live with Lord Ragnar. He didn’t mention the fire. He did tell me of a priest named Beocca, and how he was here at Dunholm, but chose to remain with Thyra so she wasn’t alone. I was just glad she was letting _someone_ close. Hild told me about the battle of Ethandun, and I was awed to hear she had fought. She truly was a remarkable woman: strongly devoted to her faith yet respectful of others, caring yet fierce in protecting those she loved. Sihtric had finally explained how he came to be sworn to Uhtred, clearing up my confusion on the matter. I eagerly told Uhtred how much his heads-on-spikes stunt had pissed off Kjartan, and terrified Sven- news that seemed to delight him. Occasionally a name of someone not currently present would be mentioned, but I never pressed for details. In a world as brutal as this I had no doubt everyone here had lost friends.

 

The crowd had thinned considerably by the time Finan began the next chapter of his epic chicken-saga. Everyone was still sitting around our fire, but most of the other men had gone. My plan to drink one cup and stay sober had… not gone well. Several things hadn’t occurred to me when I initially accepted the drink: I hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in months, so my tolerance had dipped considerably; I’d barely eaten or drank anything in the last few days, so I was already dehydrated and drinking on an empty stomach. I’d ended up drinking more than one cup, so despite my best intentions, I found myself a little tipsy. In medieval England.

 

_For all the bad decisions I’ve made so far, you’d think I’d make the right one eventually. Well, not today._

 

Most of my face was tingly and a little numb-feeling, leading me to prod at my forehead, amused that I couldn’t feel it. I was committed to mapping out exactly how numb each part of my face was, when the ever-charming Sihtric noticed what I was up to.

 

“I told you she was odd!”

 

Sihtric’s exclamation and motioning in my general direction drew a fair bit of intention. I stopped squishing my nose and rolled my eyes.

 

“Quiet, silly sausage! You’re just jelly _you_ aren’t on my level.”

 

“I understand nothing of what you say,” Sihtric informed me happily.

 

“Are ya sure that is our language?” Finan asked from my side, looking as entertained as Sihtric by my modern dialect.

 

 “Well _obviously,_ Irishman. Hold on. You _are_ Irish, right? Oh shit are you Scottish? Isn’t confusing those two a huge insult or something? Have I just brought dishonour on your family?”

 

I have _no_ idea why I started to doubt Finan’s obvious Irish accent, but I do know it was rather embarrassing. Being silly-tipsy is the _worst._ It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion- you can hear how stupid you sound, but you can’t stop talking.

 

“He is a Scot!” Uhtred put in, prompting the man in question to throw his empty horn at the Dane.

 

“Hold on, I’ve thought of something much more important! Have I brought dishonour on your cow?”

 

While I was certainly in the worst state, they’d been drinking since before I arrived, so it was hardly surprising the group found my comment amusing _._ Unfortunately, they were laughing at my idiocy as opposed to my wit.

 

Before long, Hild announced that she was calling it a night, and despite a few grumbled protests from Uhtred about her being boring, we all clambered to our feet when she did. Well. Everyone apart from me. I was perhaps ¾ of the way to standing upright, when my sense of equilibrium decided it would be funny to _stop existing_. I wobbled dangerously before my unsteady legs seemed to come to the conclusion that _fuck it, this is a bit difficult_ and gave out completely. As I toppled to the ground, someone reached out to steady me. A normal reaction to seeing someone falling. Without my consent, my body decided to display a completely _abnormal_ reaction by throwing myself backwards with enough force that I tripped over my dress and landed hard on my back. I lay there for a moment, feeling disorientated, winded, and more than a little angry at myself. My mind was at war with itself: one minute I was convinced I was safe, the next someone took me by surprise and I was _right_ back in that cage. All the progress I’d made, all the laughter of the evening suddenly felt worthless.

 

My eyes began to burn and I was horrified to find it was suddenly _very_ difficult not to cry. I took a few deep breaths, propping myself up on my elbows, and fought to keep my emotions in check. A hand appeared in front of my eyes. I followed the hand, the arm, all the way up to Finan, watching me with an unreadable expression. When _I_ was given the choice to initiate contact it was frustratingly easy to accept. I reached up and took his hand, comforted by its warmth, and he hauled me to my feet. He dropped my hand the moment I was upright, which I greatly appreciated.

 

Upset, embarrassed and feeling very sober, I followed the rag-tag group to a barn. I was too lost in my head to notice that we had arrived until Hild gently called my name. Around me, the men were settling down in the straw with thick blankets. I could see the question in the nun’s eyes, but I didn’t know how to answer her. Why couldn’t I just lie down and get some much-needed sleep? The frustration I’d been feeling since I woke up had built to an almost unbearable level. I wanted _so badly_ to just be okay. While I felt better than yesterday, a little more like myself, I still felt like a cheap imitation of the real thing. I needed to calm down before I had any chance of sleeping.

 

I stepped closer to Hild so I could whisper and still be in ear shot. “I’m going to sit outside and get some air.”

 

She didn’t look particularly impressed, but nodded anyway, telling me to stay close and to call her name if I needed anything. I slipped back outside and looked around for a quiet place to sit. The courtyard was deserted save for a few men on guard, and I headed for the battlements. Standing atop the great stone walls of Dunholm, the air was crisp and the wind gentle but icy. I hugged my arms around my torso and wiggled my toes, very grateful for the boots Hild had given me.

 

I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to achieve by standing up there. My swirling thoughts were no different than in the barn. After standing shivering for what felt like hours, I was too tired to think any longer. I hurried back to the barn and inside, feeling relief at the slightly warmer temperature. I felt a swell of affection when I saw Hild had chosen to sleep at the rooms edge, with a spare blanket lying between her and the wall. I sat down shakily, my stomach twisting. Was I really about to sleep in a room full of people that, other than Sihtric, were practically strangers? I was starting to feel panicky, but a huge yawn answered the question for me. I was exhausted. I settled down next to the wall and was granted the relief of falling asleep quickly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Adeline is coping, in her own way. She met the rest of the gang, and finally changed out of those bloody pyjamas. I feel like the poor girl was very much in need of a wardrobe change. 
> 
> As always, let me know what you thought! 
> 
> Until next time my loves. 
> 
> Word Count: 3942


	5. In Loving Memory of Crisps

A nightmare woke me. It must have been pretty bad because I woke up panting with tears on my cheeks, but even in my first moments of consciousness the dream was fading. The more I fought to remember, the more the details slid through my fingers like sand. Pushing the heavy blanket off of me I sat up slowly, blinking back the sunlight streaming in through the windows. Though not as badly as the night before, the bright sunlight told me I’d slept in _again._ That and the fact that I was alone. For a moment blind panic took hold of me- what if Sihtric and the others had left? I scrambled to my feet and over to the window, very relieved to see Uhtred attaching saddlebags to a horse in the courtyard. Many horses were dotted around the yard, held by men in plain grey clothing. I recognised most of the group from the night before, but again, Thyra was absent.

 

With that out of the way I was left to focus on how I felt. The verdict? _Not good._ It certainly wasn’t the worst hangover I’d had, not by a long shot. But my head was pounding and my throat felt dry and scratchy. They were unwelcome reminders that I’d been well on the way to getting _drunk_ in 9th Century England. Had I completely lost my mind? While the first horn of mead had surprised me with it’s affects and arguably wasn’t my fault, accepting the second and the third had been _all_ my own doing. As always, a little alcohol granted me a carefree attitude where my problems seemed to magically melt away, making me reach for more. But _nothing_ about my situation had changed: I was still over a millenia in the past, with little hope of return; still had no means to provide for myself; still facing the loss of everyone I’d ever known; and _still_ trying to come to terms with what had happened in this fortress.

 

Too annoyed with my choices to want to dwell on them, I focused on something easier. My hair had dried overnight and was likely quite the mess, but at least it was clean. I combed through it the best I could with my fingers before slipping the hair band off my wrist and pulling it up into a ponytail.

 

I needed to go outside and find out what was happening. Clearly they were leaving, and if Sihtric and Uhtred were true to their word, I was welcome to leave with them. I didn’t want to spend another second here, and I headed out to find Uhtred with that thought clear in my mind. I had no idea what I was going to say, though thankfully he spotted me first and beckoned me over, saving me the trouble of figuring it out.

 

“You can ride?”

 

I got the impression he was confirming the fact rather than actually asking me. While I was certain I was woefully unprepared for the majority of what this century had to offer (Spoiler: I was correct), horses were something I could handle. I’d grown up on a farm, and had been riding since I was a child. I confirmed that I could indeed ride, and Uhtred called one of the men in grey over and asked him to bring us another horse.

 

I was handed the reigns of a beautiful chestnut moments later. He was huge, 17hh at least. He had no white markings on his legs, but a thick blaze ran down the middle of his head, ending in a pink tip on his nose. Dark, clever eyes watched me as I offered him my hand. The horse sniffed me curiously, before seeming to decide I was harmless enough and pressed his nose into my palm. I stroked his nose for a moment before moving to stand by his side and running my hand down his soft neck. He was _gorgeous._ Admittedly I adore horses, and tend to find them _all_ lovely to look at, but this gelding was particularly striking. He was already tacked up and had a few saddlebags attached, so it seemed I had nothing to do.

 

“We are headed for Wintanceaster. My wife resides there, as does the King. Both require my attention. We leave as soon as we are ready.”

 

With that, Uhtred led his horse away and left me alone with my stead. No-one had mounted their horses, so I assumed we weren’t leaving quiet yet. For a moment, dark thoughts and feelings began to creep up on me, taking advantage of the fact that I was alone. I turned to my horse, needing a distraction once more.

 

“Something tells me you don’t have a name, which is a grievous crime I think.”

 

He seemed thoroughly uninterested in this important decision, instead watching some other horses being led over. We were already surrounded by four-legged friends- where were they _getting_ all these horses from? Then another glance at the chestnut gelding’s bright coat gave me a flash of inspiration.

 

“You are hereby named Dorito, in loving memory of the delicious crisps you share a colour with!”

 

Dorito flicked an ear towards me at hearing my voice, but otherwise remained focused on the other horses. Oh well. He would soon learn to listen to me. It may have _sounded_ like pointless babble, but truly, I was wise.

 

“Good morning Adeline!”

 

I turned to see Sihtric behind me, holding the reigns of a beautiful bay (see what I mean? I am physically incapable of _not_ complimenting a horse). Unfortunately he’d spoken loudly, and it sent a bolt of pain through my tender head.

 

“Morning,” I winced, rubbing my temples. “Keep your voice down, yeah?”  

 

“Does your head hurt you?”

 

Finan’s voice popped up as he led his horse to stand level with Sihtric’s. He’d spoken _louder_ than the Dane and was grinning wickedly at me. I scowled at him, unimpressed to see him looking none the worse for wear despite drinking more than I had. When he saw I had no intentions of gracing him with a response, he turned to Sihtric.

 

“If I cannot be heard, should I speak louder?”

 

“You should.”

 

“You shouldn’t!” I yelped, wincing _again_ at the pain in my head. Bloody mead. “Be _considerate_ if you know how. I am _suffering_.” I put my head in my hands for a moment, the bright sunlight beginning to make my eyes ache, as I muttered to myself. “I’m never drinking mead again.”  

 

As we’d been talking, those around us had been saying their farewells and climbing atop their horses. At some point Thyra had even made an appearance, and was now seated behind Hild. I tried to meet my friend’s gaze, but her eyes held that familiar unfocused look. My smile dropped at the sight. I’d assured her brothers that in time she would recover- I could only hope I was right.

 

Turning to Dorito, I paled a little when I realised there was no mounting block to use to get on. Obviously. Medieval times. Right on cue, one of the men who’d been holding horses appeared in front of Dorito and took his reigns, holding him still. Whoever had tacked him up had set the stirrups mercifully long, so I was able to swing myself aboard without _too much_ difficulty. I can assure you however, I did so with _a lot_ less grace than Sihtric, who mounted a few moments after me. I wish I could blame my height, but at 5’8 I’m fairly tall for a woman. The truth is, I have all the flexibility of a table.

 

Uhtred had already mounted his grey, and wasted no time in legging the horse on and out of Dunholm, his merry band of misfits (myself now included) following closely behind. I waited until most of the group had passed me before following alongside Clapa. Riding beside Hild and Thyra was a man I could only assume to be Father Beocca.

 

This was happening. This was _really_ happening. I was still struggling to believe that beyond those gates wasn’t _my_ world anymore. It was an alien planet to me, full of new peoples, foods, customs and ways of life.

 

I turned in the saddle for one last look at the fortress after we’d passed through the gates. Dunholm was where I’d learned that I’d been pulled back in time, to 879. I’d seen the lows of humanity, and the highs. I’d _killed_ there. Made my first friend there. I could have died there.

 

“Are you well?”

 

Following the voice I found Clapa watching me with concern. Right, I was crying again. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. Yes, I could have died there. But I’d survived.

 

“I’m very happy to be leaving,” I finally replied, avoiding his question. It wasn’t one I wanted to answer. Dunholm had already taken so much from me, I was tired of constantly thinking about the place. I wanted to be distracted. “How did you meet Uhtred?”

 

Clapa told me how Uhtred had helped to place Guthred as King of Northumbria. I was appalled to hear that Guthred, a former slave himself, had sold Uhtred and his friend into slavery. I was even more somber upon hearing poor Halig hadn’t survived his ordeal. Clapa was telling me a story from his youth in Denmark when Uhtred signalled we stopped to eat. It was already lunch time it seemed. I’d been too enthralled by the storytelling to notice as the morning passed.

 

Lunch was a simple affair consisting of bread and cheese, and it wasn’t until I was sitting with it before me I realised I hadn’t had breakfast. But my hangover hadn’t passed, in fact it was still going strong and the sight of food was making me queasy. I picked up the cheese and took a nibble, trying to ignore how my stomach lurched.

 

“I have told you much about my home. Would you do the same?” Clapa asked me after I’d given up about half way through my plate.

 

Smiling at him, I nodded my consent. Home was a thousand years and a million miles away, and I didn’t think I’d ever be totally okay with that. But when I’d first arrived and had cried for days over my homesickness, talking with Thyra had helped.

 

“As Sihtric said last night, home is a long way from here. I was always happy there. I had a good life: my parents were kind, and I was never hungry. I fought with my sister constantly, but I loved her _so_ much. It’s… different. So different it’s hard to know where to start! What would you like to know?”

 

There was very little I could actually tell them about home without some serious editing. Most of the things that were commonplace to me wouldn’t be invented for a millenia. Even the simplest things, like an alarm clock, a light bulb, a telephone, couldn’t _possibly_ be explained. And even if I could, I didn’t think I _should._ While I doubted it would tear a fabric in the whole of space-time, _Doctor Who_ style, surely no good could come of it. And then there was the way of life. Parliament ruled modern day England, while the monarchy were little more than a tourist attraction. Women had equal rights to men. You could fly to places these people didn’t even know existed in hours. _We’d walked on the moon._ I was worried I’d be asked something I couldn’t answer.

 

“Are you married?”

 

The worrying wasn’t necessary.

 

“Uhtred!” Hild scolded, rolling her eyes at the Dane. “That is a bold question.”

 

“You know I am devoted to Gisela!” He responded with a laugh, before turning to me. “I merely wished to know if Adeline had a husband waiting on her return.”

 

“No Lord, I’m not married. Even if I was, there’s no way for me to go home.”

 

Never mind a husband, my last relationship had ended amicably enough months ago, when we’d both agreed our lives were heading in different directions. Ha. If only I’d known just _how_ different. Uhtred had brought up the elephant in the room, however. I’d just admitted that my life was good, and now I was free, they must have wondered why I was staying with them rather than returning home.

 

Uhtred frowned at my revelation, looking understandably confused. “Why can you not return?”

 

Gathering my thoughts, I told Uhtred the same thing I’d told Sihtric when he’d worked up the courage to ask me, weeks after my arrival at the fortress. It was basically the truth, with a few changes. I could hardly tell them about _time travel_.

 

“Months ago, I woke up in the grass near Dunholm. I still don’t know how- all I remember is going to bed the night before. I can remember every detail about where I lived… other than the way back. It is not a matter of travelling village to village, or asking around until I find it. I’m from Seddington, a village in another land. This is _not_ my home. I’m from somewhere far away, across the sea. I couldn’t tell you where, because I _don’t know._ I think I must have hurt my head, and my memory suffered. According to a sorcerer of Kjartan’s, I am cursed, and that’s why I was brought here and can’t remember the way home. Perhaps that’s true. He also said I would bring Kjartan glory in battle and that _certainly_ wasn’t true. So I don’t know _why_ I can’t remember, just that I can’t.”

 

There was silence as my words sank in. The silence stretched and I began to worry. Did they think I was crazy? Or worse, think I really _was_ cursed, and had no wish to travel with me because of it? Then Uhtred finally spoke.

 

“My uncle sits at Bebbanburg, my ancestral home. It is _mine_ by birthright but to return I must take it back. To be without a home is to be without grounding. I am sorry you will never find yours.”

 

I’d never been so grateful to hear someone totally disregard what I’d said.

 

“Did this sorcerer give his name?” Uhtred spoke again before I could respond.

 

I nodded. “His name was Storri, Lord.”

 

The Dane’s eyes narrowed. It appeared he knew of Storri, and based on his reaction, he was _not_ fond of him.

 

“On what Storri saw, Kjartan did decide to keep you as his captive?”

 

Again I nodded, uncertain where Uhtred was going with this.

 

“I could have killed Storri long ago. That would have saved you from your fate.” Uhtred said. His face was firmly set when he looked up to meet my eyes. “When I reclaim Bebbanburg, there will be a place for you there.”

 

_Don’t you dare cry._

 

While Uhtred had already given me permission to stay with Sihtric, to hear him accept me _himself_ rather than on behalf of someone else had me feeling all warm and mushy. Like a slushy put in the microwave. Which would probably just explode, so forget I said that. The point is that Uhtred was offering me a _home._ I’d have to work harder than I’d ever worked in my life to earn a basic living, but it was _something._ It was a start.

 

Thank you really wasn’t enough, but I didn’t know how to else to display my gratitude, so I thanked him as sincerely as I could. Then an odd thing happened. You know when you start talking without really knowing what you’re going to say? And then the words start to spill out, and they’re true, even though you didn’t put any thought into them beforehand?

 

“I’ll help you take back Bebbanburg. I’ll _earn_ what you’re offering me, Lord.”

 

Uhtred looked skeptical. He’d grown up with Brida, who from the stories sounded like the most badass, bloodthirsty woman the world would ever see. I paled in comparison to her. She was _tough._ So far I’d slept a lot, gotten drunk, been very emotional, and said some stupid things. I’d taken some self-defence classes before, but that was about my limit. In my current state, I wouldn’t be of much use. I’d probably just get in the way. But even thinking about this had given rise to a wondrous feeling of determination, of _direction_ , inside of me. I  wanted something to aim for, something to _do_ beyond think about Dunholm. The more I thought about it, the more I realised I _couldn’t_ just live a quiet life. I would be forever comparing it to my life at home, consumed by everything I’d lost.

 

I could see my choices mapped clearly before me now. I could be a victim and live a life haunted by what I’d endured. Or I could pick up a sword and _fight._ I wanted to feel strong again- I was sick of feeling weak. I’d been desperately searching for a way to feel like myself since I’d been freed, and now I knew how.

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

The problem with dramatically claiming you’re going to help a Lord fight for his homeland is that you need to, you know, _be able to fight._ And sword-skill hadn’t been included in my chemistry degree.

 

 _Thanks a bunch, Nottingham. ‘Top University For Student Satisfaction, 2016’ my arse. This graduate is_ not _satisfied._

 

I was contemplating how to solve this issue as we moved off after lunch. It was as we were settling into the same formation that Dorito decided he was built for finer things than the back of the pack and trotted off. Now trot isn’t a particularly fast gait, but when your horse _refuses to stop_ , it’s not so great. When he finally listened to my increasingly frantic reign-pulling and settled into a walk, he’d shoved himself between Finan and Sihtric’s much better behaved bay horses.

 

“Dorito you dickhead!”

 

“And a good afternoon to ya too.” Finan greeted, not looking _at all_ sympathetic that my horse had delusions of grandeur.

 

“Oh you’re a dickhead as well.” I muttered, knowing full well he wouldn’t understand me.

 

“She is insulting you,” Sihtric offered, only smiling more when I muttered ‘traitor’ under my breath at him. “I recognise her tone. She is fond of using unfamiliar words. Beware of wanker.”  

 

I snorted. I didn’t realise I’d said that enough for Sihtric to remember it. Oh dear.

 

“Be quiet Sihtric. You’re making me sound very un-ladylike.”

 

“You are a lady? The language you choose and the way you behave does not agree.”

 

“You don’t understand half of what I’m saying! For all you know I’m very eloquent and refined.”

 

“You once told me I could find your respect ‘up my arse’.”

 

_Busted._

 

I flushed and looked down, suddenly finding Dorito’s mane fascinating, ignoring the sniggers coming from either side of me.

 

“How long will it take us to get to Wintanceaster?” I asked because I was curious, but mainly to change the subject.

 

“A little under two weeks.” Uhtred said from in front of us, then turned to me with a insufferable grin. “I hope you can retrieve your respect in time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took me two weeks. Life has been hectic! I'm soooo busy from now until June with uni, but I'll try and stick to the weekly updates. I hope you enjoyed this one- we've finally made it out of Dunholm. Is the world ready for Adeline? Absolutely not!
> 
> Let me know what you thought.
> 
> Until next time loves!


	6. Man-Mesmerising Apparatus

We rode all afternoon without taking a break, and after months of inactivity the day thoroughly wore me out. I was delighted when Uhtred finally called out that we would camp for the night. We were in a small clearing, in the middle of an enormous woodland we’d rode into hours ago. I tightened my grip on the reigns, suddenly unwilling to dismount. Whatever aches I currently felt would be amplified once I was walking around and carrying my own weight. Seeing everyone else begin to dismount I sighed heavily, before addressing Dorito.

“Prepare yourself. I’m going to slide off you like a cripple, my legs will give out on landing, and I’ll hang onto you for dear life. I’m sorry.” 

Perhaps I’m a clairvoyant of some kind, because the next sequence of events occurred exactly as I’d predicted. Luckily, my wonder-horse stood perfectly still, swishing his tail lazily and ignoring me. Sihtric had been tasked with settling the horses for the evening, so once I was on my feet I walked my new friend over to him.

“His name is Dorito. He hasn’t told me what his favourite food is yet, but I’m sure carrots would be a safe bet. I don’t know much about him, actually. He acts like I don’t exist a lot of the time. So yes, he’s a little rude, but he’s a sweetheart.”

Sihtric was watching me with a baffled expression.

Turning to Dorito, I gave him a firm look as I rubbed my hand along his nose. “Behave yourself for Uncle Sihtric.”

“He is a horse.” Sihtric stated slowly, as if I was unaware of this fact.

“ _ Clearly _ ,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “It’s perfectly normal to talk to animals in my land.”

“Are you sure it’s not just you?”

_ Stop calling me out for being a crazy horse lady. _

“Shut up and be nice to Dorito.”

I was charged with collecting firewood. A simple task, really, though it won’t come as a surprise to learn that I had… issues. I ventured up the embankment, away from camp, and into the trees. The only thing I knew about firewood was that it should be dry, so I set off into the wild in search. Once I’d filled my arms with as much as I could carry, I headed back to camp.

I stopped at the top of the embankment to answer the call of nature, where I could duck behind a tree to stay out of view. I was in shouting distance if I was somehow caught unawares, which with my luck, was real possibility. Happy with my hiding place, I proceeded with the awkward squat-and-pray-nobody-walks-over maneuver. Did you know that forests don’t come equipped with toilet roll? By the time that occured to me, let’s just say  _ the ship had already sailed.  _ I couldn’t crab-walk back to camp and ask someone, that would be  _ mortifying _ . But what if someone stumbled across me, literally with my pants down? I was left with only one option- I plucked one of the leaves from a plant nearby and made it work.

Everything went downhill from there.

Around 3 seconds after I plucked the leaf, the skin it had touched began to sting. And I mean _all_ of the skin. With a startled shriek I lurched upright, totally forgetting the current location of my knickers. I took a step, the fabric around my ankles had _no_ give, and I fell forward. I hit the deck with enough force to knock the wind out of my lungs, tumbling back down the hill towards camp.

_ If I knew gravity was going to fuck me like this, I would have worn my nice underwear. _

When I finally stopped falling, I was spread-eagled at the base of the incline. I sat up carefully, wincing at the multitude of pains shooting through my limbs. My legs were folded awkwardly beneath me, and it wasn’t until I stretched them out that I noticed their movement was no longer hampered.

_ It appears I’ve accidentally gone commando. _

My dress wasn’t short on fabric and kept me well covered, so at least I was in no danger of traumatising anyone.

“Adeline, are you injured?” Hild asked.

I’d landed right next to her, where she was putting up the medieval version of a tent. 

“I’m sore, and a vital piece of my man-mesmerising apparatus has wandered off. But I’ll survive.”

Hild stared at me for a moment, looking lost, before nodding. “I am glad. Now could you trouble yourself to retrieve the firewood you seem to be lacking?”

I’d just got to my feet (my skin was still stinging like a  _ bitch _ if you’re wondering) when I heard voices behind me. I turned around to see Sihtric and Finan descending the embankment of doom with ease, a deer slung over the latter’s shoulders. A  _ dead  _ deer. 

“Oh, bloody hell.” I swore, backing away as the duo reached us.

“There are more leaves on your head than hairs.”

_ Piss off, Sihtric.  _

“I can hardly tell ya apart from a tree.” Finan added, before carrying the deer to centre of the loosely arranged tent-circle.

“Where is the firewood?”

I glared at the Dane, not appreciating the smug look on his face.

“It’s up there,” I mumbled, pointing to the place of my demise.

“And you are down here, why?”

“She fell. Loudly.” Hild pitched in, before I could weave some sort of redeeming bullshit to explain away the situation.

“What is that?”

Finan had produced a huge knife from somewhere and had paused before using it on the deer. I followed his curious gaze. He was staring at a shrub, perhaps half way back up the slope. My purple unicorn pants dangled from one of the branches.

_ Hardly your finest hour, darling. _

With a strangled shriek, I took off at a sprint, dashing up the hill and grabbing the offending item as I ran past the bush. I didn’t stop running until I was out of sight, and dressed behind a tree at maximum speed. And before you comment on a grown woman wearing silly underwear, you should know they’re very comfortable, perfect for sleeping. And unicorns are  _ cool. _

For the second time that evening I attempted to return to camp. I collected the abandoned branches, picked my way down to the clearing, and dumped the pile alongside the deer carcass. Finan was skinning it and I gagged as the smell hit my nose.

“Is that  _ really _ necessary?” I coughed, torn between disgust and sympathy for the poor creature.

“Would ya prefer to eat the skin as well?” Finan smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’d prefer not to have my nose  _ assaulted. _ ”

I plopped down next to Sihtric, who was sat a little way back.

“There. The firewood is next to Bambi’s poor mother. Are you happy?”

“I was not aware you could move that fast,” Sihtric observed, disregarding my question. 

“I had an overwhelming desire for wood!” 

I had to stifle my laughter almost immediately. The innuendo was lost on my medieval companions of course, though they didn’t look surprised by my poorly contained snorting. It seemed they’d already deemed me absolutely bananas. A fair judgement, really.  

The other members of our group emerged from their respective tents to join us as the wood I’d worked so hard to gather was set alight and used to cook the meat. After eating we retreated to our tents, eager to sleep after the long day of travelling. Hild, Thyra and I shared one, and although cramped it helped to keep us warm during the sub-zero nights. I lay awake for a long time. My mind had been occupied almost constantly throughout the day, but now I was alone with my thoughts. Had it only been days ago I’d had no idea rescue was so close? How quickly my life had changed. I’d been freed from captivity, but I didn’t  _ feel  _ free. Not entirely. Lying there in the dark, I’d wondered if I ever would.

TLK TLK TLK

You’ll be happy to know I have  _ no  _ intention of describing every hour of our repetitive travelling routine. The basic run down was as such, and it changed little from day to day: breakfast (if we could find something), travel until lunch, break for lunch, travel until nightfall was close, set up camp, eat, sleep. After my disastrous firewood-fiasco, I was relegated to caring for the horses at night. This was something familiar, easy, and even enjoyable. We passed through some settlements of course, but only stayed overnight when they coincided with our schedule. It seemed our Lord was rather keen to be reunited with his Lady.

There are a few incidents I want to share. 

Firstly- King Arthur.

Dorito was in his favourite place, sandwiched between Finan’s and Sihtric’s horses. I had no complaints, between the two of them there was rarely a quiet moment, and it did wonders to keep my mind occupied. Father Beocca, Hild and Thyra rode close behind us. Sihtric had  _ yet again _ pointed out that I was speaking ‘incomprehensibly’. I think he noticed how much him drawing attention to it irritated me, because he’d been doing so with increasing frequency. Sick of his comments, I sat for a few moments to compose my response.

“If it pleases you, I can recount my tale in a manner more akin to your own, as if I were a lady of King Arthur’s court. But to do so is not a desire I possess.”

Sihtric gave me an alarmed look, and Finan choked on the water he was drinking from his waterskin.

“That is somehow worse.”

“Aye.”

“This King Arthur rules your land?”

Oh Father Beocca, you pure soul.

Secondly - drag racing.

I’d somehow been stupid enough to mention the words in a passing sentence. I’d been questioned, promptly panicked, and had started talking about  _ The Fast and The Furious.  _ I’d ended up explaining the franchise as campfire stories about wayward young men who had begun as illegal horse-racers, but became infamous for their high-speed, horseback-mounted assaults on those who threatened them, or the crown. Yeah.

I dreaded sleeping. I wrestled with my mind on a nightly basis, first struggling to fall asleep, then fending off nightmares once I  _ was  _ asleep. Sometimes I remembered nothing. Other times the intricate details clung to me like fog to damp ground. Harold would always make an appearance. I often killed him and would wake up frantically searching my hands and body for blood I  _ thought  _ I had washed away. It could no longer be seen, but it felt as if it was still there. Thyra seemed to sleep even less than I did. She was already awake,  _ every  _ time I woke up. She said little, but at least seemed to pay attention to her surroundings. It was progress. Poor Hild must have struggled to get any rest between the two of us, but she never complained. Never mind a nun, she was a saint.

Things were better in the daylight. I couldn’t let my guard down completely, still tensing when someone moved suddenly or walked past just a  _ little  _ too close. But most of the time, I could distract myself well enough by interacting with my new acquaintances. I threw myself into conversations, taking every opportunity to joke or share stories. If I really tried, I could bury the memories deep enough that they only surfaced at night.

 

Then one morning we crested a hill, and there it was, laid out before us.

Wintanceaster.

The outer walls were a light stone, the wooden gates set between two tall pillars with a lookout walkway overhead. As we passed through, I got my first glimpse of Saxon England’s capital city. The buildings were wooden with thatch roofs, and the paths that wound between them were simply dirt tracks where constant footfall had worn away the grass. The people were dressed plainly, in loose clothes designed for warmth over style. A few watched as we passed through but most simply continued with their day. I caught the eyes of a girl in her early teens, who was watching us without making any effort to hide her curiosity. I waved and smiled, earning me a shy smile in return. I wondered then if people waved here? Oh well. It appeared a handshake wasn’t the only modern thing I’d be giving an education on.

We rounded a corner and were presented with stone steps and archways leading to a well-guarded door. Servants seemed to appear out of thin air to take our horses. The back-to-back days of riding had helped to harden my muscles a tad, so I no longer slid off Dorito like a sack of potatoes being dropped. I pressed a quick kiss to his soft nose, unstrapped the saddle bags and handed him over. I watched him go fondly. I’d grown very attached to him in the days we’d spent together. I adored horses anyway, and he was a particularly gentle one. He was a reminder of my 21 st Century life on the family farm, but rather than making me feel homesick I found his presence a comfort.

“Adeline!” Hild called, pulling me from my thoughts as she walked over to me. “It will take Uhtred some time to inform Alfred of all that has transpired. Come, we shall settle into the inn.”

We fell in with the others as they headed down the side of one of the buildings, took a few turns, and had reached the inn in no time. I hadn’t realised how small Wintanceaster was. I expected the capital to be large, but it was rather quaint. It would be the first, but far from last, moment where I saw the small scale of medieval England. Thyra had elected to stay with Father Beocca, so Hild and I were sharing. Our room was simple and small: besides the bed, the only furniture was a chest to store our belongings. I placed the knapsacks from Dorito’s saddle in there, not having dared look inside. For all I knew, they contained the heads of Uhtred’s enemies. I’m kidding. Uhtred preferred to put heads on spikes. 

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

Hild was right when she said dealing with Alfred would take time. It was dark out and we had gathered at a small but heavily packed tavern. Those present (Hild, Sihtric, Finan and Clapa) had mugs of mead, but I’d refrained. Alcohol and I still weren’t on speaking terms. Uhtred finally appeared with a beautiful brunette at his side some time into the evening. Was that Gisela, his wife?  _ That  _ would certainly explain why he’d taken so long to arrive. 

 

“Alfred wishes to establish burhs, halls and men to sit in them, to resist the Danes that come to Wessex to raid.” Uhtred explaining, pausing to look around the group. A huge grin lit up his handsome face, he somehow produced a drink and raised it high. “He has granted me Coccham!” 

 

Loud cheers erupted from the group in response, mead was toasted and rapidly consumed. For once  _ I  _ was the one confused by the choice of language, as my brain scrambled to figure out what a ‘Coccham’ was, and why the King had given one to Uhtred. My mistified expression didn’t go unnoticed.

 

“The King has granted me the lands of Coccham, to rule as their Lord. It appears I shall not be in need of your skill just yet, Adeline.” 

 

_ Oh!  _

 

_ Wait. _

 

_ Is he mocking my pledge to help him win Bebbanburg? _

 

“Once she did try to choke Sven with a pheasant leg. She is a force, Lord.”  __

 

I shoved Sihtric, unimpressed that he’d joined the conversation just to add a dose of sarcasm. Now I sounded like a nutcase. 

 

“I find the sword to be a more effective weapon. Is it not so?” 

 

It was at this fledgling stage in our acquaintance I came to the conclusion that at least half of what Uhtred said was intended to take the piss out of the me. 

 

“It’s a great way to silence wailing children.” 

 

“Of which we shall have many!” Uhtred grinned, grabbing Gisela by the waist and pulling her close. 

 

The lady in question smacked his chest, eyebrows raised. “Oh shall we husband?  _ I  _ shall determine that!” 

 

Gisela turned to me, and I was stunned for a moment by  _ just  _ how pretty she was. 

 

“You are Adeline?” 

 

“Yes Lady.”

 

I don’t know what came over me. I think I panicked because she was titled and beautiful and I don’t  _ know  _ okay? 

 

I curtseyed.  

 

Gisela seemed a little surprised, while Uhtred looked  _ affronted _ . 

 

“When we met, you hardly remembered to address me as Lord!”  

 

“Well your wife actually  _ looks _ the part.” 

 

_ Can I file a divorce with my mouth? It never consults me before talking.  _

 

Gisela stifled a chuckle behind her hand, Sihtric seemed torn between horror and laughter, and Uhtred raised an eyebrow. He did  _ not  _ look happy.  _ Oh shit.  _

 

While I was somewhat acquainted with him, the Dane was still a Lord. He was a titled man living in a time where respect was a given. And I  _ did  _ respect him, highly so. I just have an awful habit of saying  _ precisely  _ the wrong thing. 

 

“Lord I am  _ so  _ sorry. I meant no disrespect. I’m just gonna go… over there. Out of your way. Honestly, I’m so sorry.”

 

I began to step backwards slowly as I spoke, thinking I was giving off super-spy-levels of cool until my attempts to blend into the crowd had me tripping over someone’s foot and nearly taking them down. 

 

“Ah fuck it. Au revoir!” 

 

With that I turned and fled, pushing my way through the amassed men and heading for Clapa’s tall form. He had left with Finan to get another drink, but had been distracted by an arm-wrestling competition. The huge Dane looked down at me with a confused expression, probably wondering why I was breathing like I’d ran a marathon. I offered him no explanation, instead grabbing his tankard and upending it.

 

“Is there a mead shortage I should know about?”

 

I choked a little in surprise, managing to dribble alcohol over my chin. I lowered the receptacle to find Finan smirking at me from his spot beside Clapa. Again, I opted for alcohol theft over speech, plucking the mead he’d just arrived with from his hands and swapping it for Clapa’s empty mug. I downed it in one go, the strange taste washing down my throat. I swayed a little but didn’t fall, a familiar warm buzz settling over my bones.

 

“What do ya think you’re doin?” The Irishman protested, grabbing his mug from my hand and frowning at it’s empty state. 

 

“Drinking your mead,” I informed him, wiping the remaining froth from my lip with the back of my hand. “Now I owe you two fine gentlemen a drink. I shall return shortly!” 

 

I elbow-barged my way to the front of the throng of men. Now, years of dingy clubs and low-lit bars had taught me that there was no place for manners when ordering drinks. I leant my side against the bar and waved an arm frantically until I caught a woman’s attention, and ordered six tankards of mead. She must have broken the land-speed record because the drinks seemed to be ready in seconds. Then she named a price, and my blood ran cold.

 

_ Why did it not occur to me that I would need to pay?  _

 

Floundering, I stuttered and uhmm’d and errrr’d, the barmaid beginning to looked annoyed, before inspiration struck me. Surely Sihtric wouldn’t mind _too_ much? I would pay him back, somehow. Definitely. 100%. 

 

“Lord Uhtred’s man, Sihtric asked me to order his drinks. He will pay?” 

 

I was fully aware that I sounded hopeful instead of confident. The barmaid gave me a  _ look,  _ and I’m sure she smelt the bullshit. But she said nothing more and waved me away, turning to the next man yelling his order at her. 

 

_ Crisis averted.  _

 

I eased my way through the crowd much more carefully on the return trip, guarding the mugs like they were the crown jewels and hissing at anyone who bumped me. I stopped beside Finan and Clapa, pushing the tray forward with a grin. 

 

“They were all out of tequila sunrises, so mead it is. Please accept two as my apology, boys.” 

 

They brightened straight away, smiles replacing their frowns as they realised I’d doubled their original alcohol volume. 

 

“Now  _ that  _ is an apology,” Finan grinned widely, grabbing two mugs and sloshing some over the side in his haste. 

 

Clapa took his drinks, and I placed the tray on the ground before picking up my own. The Dane raised one of his to the centre of our trio. 

 

“To Coccham!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've reached Wintanceatser! Not long until we get to Coccham. 
> 
> Now it may seem like I'm putting Adeline through a lot of embarrassing situations... and I am. This world is entirely new to her, so it will take some getting used to. Including knowing which plants sting ;) She'll get there though! 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this. Let me know what you thought!
> 
> Until next time loves.


	7. The Great Bread Thief of Coccham

'To Coccham’ turned out to be the very next morning. After a quick breakfast at the inn we left for the stables where stable-hands were readying the horses. This time, our travelling party lacked Steapa, Father Beocca and Thyra. The redhead had chosen to stay in Wintanceaster with the priest. She acted as though I didn’t exist if I spoke to her, looking straight through me with a far-away expression. Beocca seemed to be the only one who could get through to her, so it was surely a decision for the best. All we’d suffered had forged our friendship, but perhaps I was now too heavy a reminder. I hoped one day we would be able to talk again like we used to and enjoy our freedom together.

 

I spotted Dorito being attended to on the other side of the barn, so I wandered over to fasten my saddlebags.

 

“Lady, allow me,” the stable-hand offered.

 

I flinched as his hands made contact with mine. I lost my grip on the bags and they landed between us with a dull thud.

 

_Good evening, Lady._

 

_Wandering hands, grabbing, pulling, ripping._

 

_Dirty, tainted, spoilt._

 

_Did you really think you could forget?_

 

I couldn’t _breathe_. I took a sharp step backwards, heart hammering at a mile-a-minute. No-one had addressed me like that since _that night._ The word was the key, unlocking Pandora’s box so all the horrors it contained could spill out.

 

“Don’t call me that!” I snapped, blinking back tears. “This horse is ready. Leave!”

 

Whoever he was, he wasn’t to blame here. But I couldn’t continue this conversation, I just _couldn’t_ _._ Nodding quickly, the stable-hand turned and fled. The general bustle, and our position at the far side of the stables, meant no one seemed to have noticed the exchange. I focused on my breathing, blocking out the rancid memories. With trembling hands, I stooped to collect the saddlebags and attach them. I was in public. This was _not_ the place to lose my shit. I mounted Dorito quickly, seeing everyone else was about ready. I nudged the chestnut’s sides and steered him over to Sihtric and Finan, in dire need of distracting company.

 

We left shortly after that. Listening to the mindless babble of grown men arguing over who had the superior sword was _exactly_ the kind of mental diversion I needed. I listened in silence for a while, letting the dark tendrils of the morning slowly recede. I didn’t want to dwell on the stables incident or what it meant. All I wanted to do was forget, so I focused on our journey. The pace was faster than before as we were only travelling for a day. Coccham wasn’t far from Wintanceaster, and the plan was to reach it by nightfall. That weighed heavily on my mind- this was to be my home for the foreseeable future. Where would I live? How would I provide for myself? While I had no answers to the big questions, I remained resolute in my desire to learn ‘sword-skill’ as Uhtred called it.

 

I’d dropped back to ride with Hild after lunch and we’d been chatting quietly since. I was directly behind Sihtric, which gave me the best possible position to enact my plan. Our current path wound through a forest, so I took the opportunity to pluck a few berries from the bushes at my side. I stood up in the stirrups and threw my mini-missile. The berry connected with the Dane’s head, lodging in one of his braids. My victim spun around so quickly I’d only just sat back in the saddle.

 

“Do you require anything, or are you fulfilling your constant need to annoy others?”

 

_Ouch, Sihtric! You’re not a cactus, less of the prickles._

 

“That is just a taster of what is to come.” I warned, holding up my handful of berries and ignoring his _highly_ inaccurate comment. “But, I would consider ceasing my attack.”

 

“You are merciful beyond measure,” he responded dryly.

 

“And all I ask in return is that you teach me how to use a sword.”

 

“‘All you ask’? You have the balance and control of a drunken woman. It would be easier to train a child.”

 

“Are you saying you don’t have the skill to teach me?”

 

“He does not.” Finan confirmed, turning in his saddle to join the conversation with a grin.

 

Sihtric looked aghast and opened his mouth to argue, so I squashed another berry and hurled it at his face, nailing him in the eye.

 

“I could stop. But if I have nothing to fill my spare time, no hobby… I could get bored. I could make it my mission to follow you. There would be nowhere to hide. Every day you would wake in fear of the _unstoppable_ Adeline Brown and her legion of berries. You-”

 

Sihtric sighed, interrupting my terrifying description of his future.

 

“I will train you. _Only_ to ensure you do not stab yourself in an attempt to learn alone.”  

 

“Have a little faith, Sihtric. I believe Adeline will take to her training.”

 

_Hild, I bloody love you._

 

“And who are we to argue with the warrior nun of Wessex?” Finan added.

 

I gave Sihtric a triumphant grin.

 

“You just got tag-teamed, bitch!”

 

…

 

Oh right. No one understood. Obviously. I was thinking about home before I knew it. While some days I could remember it fondly, there were moments like this where all I could manage was bittersweet nostalgia. I bit my lip, trying not to get buried under the onslaught of memories. I questioned why everything I knew had been taken, and why the _fuck_ I’d ended up here.

 

_Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry._

 

“Adeline?” Hild enquired gently.

 

I blinked a few times, relaxing the death-grip I’d had on the reigns.

 

_Today had contained too many mood swings for my liking. I better not start craving pickles._

 

“I’m just feeling a little motion-sick.” I assured them, smoothing a hand down Dorito’s neck. “He swings all over the place. Like a ship.”

 

“An effect of all the mead you drank last night, no doubt. You drink it as though it were water.”

 

Bold of you to assume I drink enough water, Sihtric.

 

The conversation then descended into dramatic retellings of my mead-stealing antics (Finan) and a valiant attempt at overturning the accusations (me). Sihtric spoke straight over me as I tried to clear my name, happily stating that he believed the Irishman because I ‘’behaved like a mad-woman at any given opportunity’.

 

_Laugh it up. You payed for all my drinks, but you were too drunk to notice._

 

TLK TLK TLK

 

Darkness had fell when we arrived. Our arrival had clearly been anticipated: torches illuminated the open space in front of the hall, and men quickly came to relieve us of our horses. I peppered Dorito’s head with kisses, before stepping back and giving him one last pat. Once the horses were taken care of, the group moved en masse to the hall, where a wonderful edible welcome had been laid out for us. A long table was laden with meats, vegetables, breads and huge jugs of mead. I made a beeline for whatever meat had been carved at the end of the table, grabbing a huge slice and demolishing it in seconds. I picked another and stuffed that in my mouth with no less pace.

 

“Are you breathing?” Sihtric’s disturbed voice came from my left.

 

He’d also foregone a plate in the name of speed, but had opted to chew his food rather than inhaling it.

 

“Not really,” I tried to say around my food, but found there was no space in my mouth to create sound. I opted for a simple shake of the head, already eyeing a bowl of carrots and parsnips.

 

There was a cough, and we turned to find Hild holding two wooden plates out towards us. I took one rather sheepishly, quickly swallowing so I could smile at her without worrying about something flopping out of my mouth. Sihtric followed suit. We thanked the nun, who just rolled her eyes and took an apple, before splitting up in search of more food. Now armed with a plate, I skipped around to the other side of the table and began piling the vegetables on. I turned to the huge, deliciously grainy loaves of bread at the center of the table, and frowned. They hadn’t been sliced, but they were far too big for one person. What was the appropriate etiquette here?

 

As I was trying to figure it out, a hand stole the nicest looking loaf from under my nose. After stealing my bread, Finan continued his assault on the food table, moving onto a wooden platter of cheese. He seemed completely oblivious to the crime he’d just committed. I skidded back around the table to cut off the bread thief as he made his escape.

 

“Hey! Unhand my loaf!”

 

Finan took a huge bite. “This loaf?”

 

I lunged for it, but he sidestepped me with enviable speed. I waited a few moments, before feigning to the left, then jumping right and making another attempt. Again, I was easily dodged. Finan even took another bite as he stepped around me, looking a little too pleased with himself for my liking.

 

“If ya didn’t move so slowly, ya might have a chance.”

 

“In the words of Baymax: ‘I am not fast’,” I muttered, still eying the bread. Yes, there were other loaves. But I wanted _this_ one.  

 

I stood on my tiptoes, reaching as high as I could. The Irishman held the food just out of reach. It’s been a hot minute since I told you how attractive this man is, so, here’s your reminder. And he was currently dangling a loaf over my head like you would a dog treat and a Labrador. The world is not a fair place.

 

“If ya wish to learn sword-skill, bein fast is quite important,” Finan pointed out.

 

He was grinning like a moron (when wasn’t he?) and he _still_ had my bloody bread.

 

_Desperate times call for desperate measures._

 

“Oh my God, Sihtric’s naked!” I shrieked, pointing over the bread thief's shoulder.

 

He spun around. I snatched the loaf from his slackened grip and took off in the opposite direction, cackling like a maniac. The plate of vegetables was abandoned- he could keep it as a consolation prize.

 

_Food is all._

 

There was no excessive celebrating that night as the journey had been so tiring. Uhtred ensured us that proper arrangements would be made tomorrow, so once the night wound down everyone just crashed in the hall like a big sleepover. Well, everyone except Uhtred and Gisela who with no subtlety _at all_ snuck away for a roll in the hay. Or three. I know it was specifically three because unlike everyone else, I didn’t fall asleep straight away. We were somewhere foreign and basically sleeping in the open, where anyone could reach me. I couldn’t banish the paranoia that I wasn’t safe. On top of that, my brain was good enough to remind me of the moment in the stables that morning. Over and over. So yes, I was wide awake to confirm that the hay was rolled in on three separate occasions.

 

The next morning, I woke to find I’d finally managed to fall asleep under the food table, surrounded by loaves of bread. Huh. I slowly crawled out, blinking rapidly as the bright sunlight stung my sleep-deprived eyes. The movement brought my nose alarmingly close to my armpits and I recoiled so hard I cracked the back of my head on the table. I hadn’t washed since a stream a few days before Wintanceaster, which I’d thrown a huge fuss over until I was finally allowed to bathe in it. I’d barely noticed the smell before because everyone else smelt worse than I did. But that had been _far_ too close an encounter, one I feared had done permanent damage to my nasal passages.

 

I’d quickly found Hild to inform her of my odour crisis. She wasn’t sympathetic in the slightest. Fun fact: Saxons don’t wash very often. Short of getting drenched in your enemies’ blood, very little merited a full-body soaking. The nun assured me if I still wanted to wash that evening, she would accompany me to a secluded patch of the river (I think she was worried I’d slip and drown), but only after the day was done. Hygiene _really_ wasn’t a priority. I sulked, she gave me a stern look, and that was that.

 

‘After the day was done’ took a rather long time to arrive. As the new Ealderman, Uhtred spent the entire day in the hall, meeting the people, establishing roles within the community, and laying the foundations for how he wanted his land to be ran. I learnt that the majority of the fighting force were only raised to arms in times of war. Saxon men usually farmed or held a trade, while the women stayed at home to cook, clean, mend clothing and raise the children. While there was no ‘army’ as such, Sihtric, Finan, Clapa and Hild were to make up part of Uhtred’s household guard as their full-time occupation. As his guard they stayed with him throughout the process. I awkwardly stood next to Hild, one part fascinated and one part confused by the proceedings, and of no actual _use._

 

If you’re wondering where exactly I fit into the future of Coccham… I was, too. Whatever grandiose promises I’d made regarding fighting for Uhtred, I needed to support myself in the meantime, while I learned to fight.

 

I had no husband to provide for me while I tended to the home, and _no_ desire to find one purely to survive. I could hardly strike out on my own, either. The livelihoods of a saxon were learnt as a child from the parent. It would take _years_ to learn a trade to a level where I would be of any use to the community. I had no money to invest in livestock or farming equipment, no land, and no idea where to start. I came to the rather alarming conclusion that I _didn’t fit._ It wasn’t that I suddenly didn’t see my worth as a person- I’d graduated university with a bachelors in chemistry and gone on to a good graduate job. The problem was, everything I’d ever learnt was for another life. What use was my ability to speak french, or my obsessive knowledge of the Marvel Cinematic Universe? As much as my inner modern woman wanted to insist I could take whatever path I wanted, it just wasn’t the case.

 

_Did someone call for an existential crisis?_

 

We’d broke for lunch as I’d had this rather overwhelming train of thought, so I excused myself from the proceedings in the hall. Outside the sky was a lovely pale blue, broken up by a few wispy clouds. A soft breeze tossed my ponytail about and rustled the extra fabric of my sleeves. I set off through the settlement with no real aim other than to no longer be in that room. Not that being out here helped all that much. As I wound my way through the small maze of wooden homes, dodging errant chickens and muddy children, it had _never_ been more apparent where I was. Beyond the sea of thatched roofs lay the outer wall and gate. This village was hemmed in from all sides, and it was suffocating. Feeling more panicky and short of breath by the moment, I took off at a sprint for the gates.

 

“Open the gates!” I shouted, skidding to a halt in front of them, startling the guards from what appeared to be an afternoon siesta.

 

The men exchanged a look, but must have recognised me as someone who’d arrived with Uhtred because they did as I asked. I dashed through the gap as soon as the gates were wide enough apart and came to a stop again. Outside the gates were a few wagons, more guards, and a man grazing his herd of cattle on the grass narby. The claustrophobia lessened a little once I was out of the walls but didn’t leave me entirely. I think it had something to do with the fact that it was this entire _world_ , this _time_ , was constricting me like a snake would its prey. There was no escape.

 

I walked forward slowly, moving to the edge of the jetty and flopping down.

 

_How the fuck was I going to survive here?_

 

I’d faced the fact that I was in the 9th century before, when I’d first found out from Kjartan. It had, oddly, been easier as a captive. When you’re a prisoner to psychopaths, with no prospect of escape and no hope of a future, the rest of the world kind of fades away. But now I was faced with the logistics of actually _living_ here, and it was terrifying. I’d never felt more alone in my life.

 

The light was fading when my wallowing was interrupted by raised voices. I could hear someone inside the wall shouting, but the only thing I could make out was the word ‘horse’. Like a horsey-homing-pigeon, I was on my feet within seconds and bothering the guard to let me back in. I dashed through the doors and saw an agitated horse being approached. A man made a quick grab for the bridle, but the sudden movement spooked the animal. The horse snorted loudly and shied away, darting past him and cantering for the gates. He came to a sliding stop a few feet away from me, all wide eyes and pricked ears.

 

“Hey hey, it’s alright.” I soothed, keeping my voice soft. “No one’s gonna hurt you. What are you doing tearing around out here, huh? Surely you have a stable to be in and food to be munching?”

 

As I spoke nonsense, I inched closer. Once I was near enough, I carefully raised a hand, but didn’t try to make contact. The horse stretched his muzzle out towards me, not wanting to take a step and keeping his hooves firmly planted on the floor. He sniffed my hand loudly, before poking it with his nose. When he seemed satisfied, I took one more slow step, slid my hand around the side of his head and took hold of the bridle.

 

_If I wasn’t missing home before, this seals it._

 

I returned the horse, urging the man to move with more thought in the future. I was greeted by an unimpressed scoff.

 

I didn’t return to the hall. I didn’t want to spark another meltdown, or drip mud all over Uhtred’s floor. Instead I walked the paths between the homes, learning the layout of the village and contemplating a career as a medieval horse whisperer. When I passed the hall on my third lap, I flopped down outside to wait. In my ongoing quest for a wash, I’d somehow ended up dirtier than before. Hopefully Hild would deem me worthy of a river-dunking now. I could have gone alone of course, but for someone as disaster-prone as me, that just seemed to invite trouble. Eventually those inside the hall filtered out and I stood to meet them, looking for my bath buddy. Instead I was met with a braided Dane who was fond of throwing insults.

 

“Adeline, I need to speak with you.” Sihtric said, motioning with his head and moving away from the crowd.

 

He looked serious, so I trailed after him with no complaint. Behind the hall sat a cluster of small wooden buildings, each surely only big enough to hold a room or two. We stopped at the threshold of the one closest to the outer wall. Sihtric was fidgeting and my interest was piqued.  

 

“Coccham is our home now. You could live here, with me, if you wish.”

  
I looked from the home to my friend and back, floored that he would offer me something like that. I’d been right about one thing: this time, this _world,_ was terrifying. But I’d been wrong about something too. I wasn’t alone. I had Sihtric, and I couldn’t have asked for a finer friend. I lunged forward to wrap him in a hug, gripping his leather armour as tightly as I could. And this time when he returned the embrace, nothing in the world could have made me back away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayyyyyy, breakdown time. As fun as it sometimes seems to us fanfic writers, being thrown into the past for real would be awful and terrifying. You wouldn’t get upset once, and then be totally fine with it for the rest of your life. And as much as Adeline tries to deal with her emotions by pushing them away and joking, things can still get too much for her sometimes. We've finally reached Coccham, so a chapter of highs and lows really. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! 
> 
> Until next time loves :)


	8. Deadly With A Raspberry

As I’m sure you’re on the edge of your seats, dying to know if I ever got clean, I’ll put you out of your misery. Hild, who I’m convinced is a real-life angel, found me later that evening and escorted me to a secluded patch of the river. My green dress was filthy by now, thanks to my stunning ability to fall over _constantly._ She’d brought me a second dress I could borrow while I washed the original. Then, in all seriousness, she’d asked me _if I could use soap._ Yeah. I assured her I could. I said a fond farewell to my old dress and quickly donned the replacement, which was a similar design but dark blue in colour.

 

I parted ways with Hild and headed back to Sihtric’s home. The front door was central to one of the two long walls, with the roof hanging over just enough to protect you on a rainy day. The house was simple but ample for our needs. On one side of the door sat two beds pushed against opposite walls, while the other side held a table, chairs, a hearth and rudimentary cooking implements. Sihtric and I were sat at the table, unwinding with relaxed conversation, when an awkward topic reared its head.  

 

“You need to mind the way you speak.”

 

I’d been trying to explain the plot of _The Matrix_ in a way he would understand when Sihtric spoke, and his words stopped me in my tracks.

 

“Not with me. You have made little sense since you started talking about this ‘Lawrence Fishman’, but I don’t mind. I mean around Uhtred. He is our sworn Lord, but you do not speak to him as such.”

 

My first thought was of that lovely self-sabotage moment where I’d accidentally implied Uhtred didn’t look good enough to be a Lord. Next was the first time we’d spoke, where I’d almost forgotten to use his title _and_ all but called him stupid. I hadn’t really looked at my dealings with Uhtred from that angle before, but now I did, I came to the worrying conclusion that I’d inadvertently been rather rude.

 

“I’ve never met anyone with a position before. I don’t do it on purpose, it’s just so far from what I’m used to. You _know_ I don’t mean any disrespect. Uhtred’s great, and he rocks eyeliner better than anyone I know. Including you.”

 

“ _I_ know to hear your meaning as opposed to your words,” Sihtric pointed out. “I am your friend, Uhtred is your Lord. You must speak to him in the proper manner.”

 

_Told._

 

He wasn’t wrong, though. My high opinion of Uhtred meant little if I didn’t show him that in the way of _this_ century. My right hand slid to find the end of my ponytail, pulling it over one shoulder and twirling the strands around my fingers.

 

_The past is complicated. I understand why Doc and Marty decided to go to the future instead._

 

The next day was much like the last. I sat next to Clapa, still with nothing to contribute beyond a baffled expression whenever some old-fashioned word was used. I was trying to figure out how he kept his moustache so perfectly shaped when the man in question nudged my arm. I’d been resting my chin on my hand, so _of course_ my elbow slipped and _of course_ I narrowly avoided smacking my face on the table. I straightened up and looked around, wondering what I’d missed. Uhtred was watching me expectantly and with a sinking feeling I realised the others were too.

 

_This is like that time I was asked a question in History and I’d fallen asleep. At least I’m not drooling._

 

_Wait._

 

_Am I drooling?_

 

“I’m sorry, Lord. What did you say?”

 

I was acutely aware of the conversation I’d had with Sihtric the previous night, and this only served to support his point.

 

“From tomorrow you will work in the stables and tend to the horses,” Uhtred said, sounding irritated. How long had he been talking to me before Clapa (who was now my favourite human) had intervened? “It is the only role you can fill without misfortune befalling you.”

 

My knee-jerk response was to make some scathing comment, but I bit my tongue. As embarrassing as Uhtred’s depiction of me was, he wasn’t far off. I mean, who loses their _underwear_ while trying to find firewood? He’d completely disregarded my promise to fight for him, and it appeared he found me entirely incapable.

 

Did I appear that way to _everyone_?

 

I thought back to when Sihtric had agreed to train me to fight- he’d had no confidence in me at all. Finan had agreed with Hild, but I was certain that was only to annoy Sihtric. And while the nun had supported me in that instance, she was under the impression I couldn’t use _soap._

 

This whirlwind of a situation had taken some adjusting to, and honestly, I was still working on it. I’d been too busy figuring it all out to worry about how I appeared to my new friends. The crux of the matter was that this time judged by a different set of standards, and it was hardly surprising that with my modern sensibilities, I was found wanting. I was a disaster-on-legs and the poster child for saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. It was part of what made me, well, me. But that wasn’t _all_. I would show them, in my own way, that no matter how odd I seemed to them, I _could_ contribute.

 

_Did I just have an epiphany? I thought you needed weed for one of those._

 

“Of course, Lord.” I replied, inclining my head. “Thank you.”

 

I started work the next morning. Without an alarm clock I had no idea whether I would wake up on time, so I’d asked Sihtric to wake me when he rose at dawn. He must have heard ‘wake me up’ as ‘scare me to within an inch of death’ because his chosen method was to vigorously shake the bed-frame. I woke up instantly, disorientated and wondering why an earthquake of that magnitude hadn’t been recorded in history. I was met with my housemate’s stupid grin.

 

_What a pillock._

 

We ate breakfast together before I made for the stables and my new career. I’d spotted them on my wanderings the previous day, so I found my way easily enough. I’d barely stepped inside the long building before an older, balding man approached me.

 

“You are Adeline?”

 

His tone was brisk, reminding me of a harried parent with too many children. I confirmed my identity and was led away.

 

“I am Nerian, and I oversee all that happens here. You will clean the stables and feed the horses. See to your tasks well and we will have no quarrel.”

 

We walked as Nerian spoke. A central corridor ran through the stables, with wooden rails instead of walls and doors sectioning off small stables either side. I saw Dorito snoozing in a stable to my left and managed to reduce my excited squeal to a little squeak. Nerian turned to me with a curious look, so I coughed a couple of times into my hand.

 

“Dry throat,” I explained, not wanting to give myself away as a horsey-nutcase this early in the game.

 

At the end of the barn we came across the man who’d been trying to recapture the horse, cleaning a saddle with a cloth and wooden bucket of water.

 

“This is Rodor. I believe you met yesterday?”

 

“Yep!”

 

I smiled and waved and was ignored _again_. That confirmed it - the wave was _definitely_ not a part of pop culture yet, and it was _definitely_ my job to change that. Rodor gave me a once-over, blatantly frowning. Nerian left shortly after that, leaving me with my happy new colleague. No-one wanted to be on shift with me at my uni job either, but that was because I hid in the kitchen and ate the chips. Rodor was still glaring in the direction Nerian had disappeared in. He eventually let out a sigh and turned to look at me disdainfully.

 

“The horses have _already_ been fed. Use the bucket and fork to clean the stables. Return at dusk to do the same. Do not tarry, and do _not_ bother me with your presence.”

 

“Oh, there’s no chance of that,” I scoffed. “I’d rather spend the day staring at the rear end of a horse.”

 

Rodor had no response- no doubt stunned by my wit. I grabbed the required equipment and set off for the other end of the stables. The first stable held a steel grey mare, who raised her head when I ducked under the wooden beam. She was a little more affectionate than Dorito, running her soft nose across my dress and settling on nibbling the extra fabric around my wrist. I was no stranger to mucking out, but it took longer than I’d expected. _Much longer._ Without a wheelbarrow, I had to carry the bucket back and forth to the huge pile of manure outside. And I couldn’t fill it too much, otherwise it was too heavy to pick up. I also spent a considerable chunk of time showering the horses in affection. So sue me, they were warm and soft and _much_ better company than Rodor. It was past noon when I finished, despite starting early. I knew that because during our travel to Wintanceaster, I’d mastered the art of using the sun to tell the time.

 

_Move over Bear Grylls._

 

I’m kidding. I could just about tell when midday was, and the sun appeared to have moved past that. A quick search of Sihtric’s home revealed he’d found apples, so I grabbed a few and set off in search. I found him amongst a small group of men, training in an open area of grass to the side of the main hall. I flopped down against the hall’s outer wall, munching an apple and wondering if I could transform into Xena: Warrior Princess by observation alone. Clapa was close by, wielding an axe like it weighed nothing. The man he was fighting was holding his own, aggressively knocking an axe stroke out of the air and lunging with his sword. Perhaps seeing it this close-up should have been unnerving, but it had the opposite effect. _I_ wanted to hold myself like that- with confidence and strength.

 

Clapa was victorious in the end and headed over in my direction. He sat next to me, only mildly out of breath, and accepted an apple.

 

“The boy will teach you?”

 

“Yeah. I threatened to stalk him with berries if he didn’t.”

 

“You already think like a warrior,” the big man teased, moustache twitching as he smiled.

 

“I’m deadly with a raspberry.”

 

We sat in companionable silence for a while, my gaze now firmly fixed on Sihtric and Finan as they fought.

 

“They may be a while. I could show you something?” Clapa offered.

 

I looked at him for a moment, feeling nervous. For some reason, it wasn’t so daunting if Sihtric saw me make a fool of myself.

 

_Clapa’s seen you drunk and yelling about cows. Get on with it._

 

“Yes please. Don’t let me stab myself?”

 

“You will learn with a wooden staff.” Clapa explained, moving to a rack of weapons and taking two such staffs.

 

He threw one to me, which I caught neatly in one hand. I promptly ruined that by attempting to swing it around my hand and flinging it over my shoulder. I picked the staff up, flushing bright red. The huge Dane stood alongside me, correcting my grip on the staff, how I placed my feet, and how I held my body. Once I’d got the basic stance right, Clapa showed me how to hold the staff so I could swing in any direction. It seemed there was a _lot_ more to it than just jabbing someone with a pointy stick.

 

“Raise your staff.” Clapa instructed, stepping back.

 

I did so slowly, more than a little worried he was just going to lunge at me. The moment I had it in the correct position, Clapa swung his staff and smacked mine right out of my hands.

 

“Clapa!” I shrieked, stooping to pick it up. “You didn’t show me how to respond!”

 

“You are not holding it tight enough. Again.”

 

This went on for some time. Any dreams I had were fading under the realisation _I_ _couldn’t keep hold of a stick._ Clapa ceased his attack for a moment to make sure I was doing everything properly. Is anyone surprised that I wasn’t? The first time I genuinely hadn’t been expecting the force of his blow, and I’d dropped the staff. After that, everytime I picked it up my grip got a little less accurate. He corrected me, stepped back and swung. The blow felt like it rattled my teeth, but I kept my hold.

 

_Wonder Woman, I’m coming for your brand._

 

I let out a cheer like I’d scored the winner in the World Cup and threw my arms in the air. I was one step away from running a victory lap when I noticed Sihtric and Finan watching at our side.

 

“Scared?” I asked, pointing my staff in their direction.

 

“Beside ourselves with fear.” Finan grinned, sword slung over his shoulder. Why did he have to look so _cool_ doing that?

 

Sihtric took over after that, letting Clapa return to his own practising. Finan had cockily challenged him. Considering I’d missed the finale of the earlier fight, I was hoping with _everything_ in my body the Dane knocked him on his arse.

 

Now I could actually hold onto the staff, I was shown a basic swing and the corresponding footwork. From the get-go Sihtric emphasised the importance of constant motion, but none of the prancy bollocks you saw on TV. He encouraged me to be aggressive and decisive, to get in close and make my hits count. Which would be all well and good, if I could get a single swing right. Between achieving the right angle, having my feet in the right place, keeping my eyes on my opponent and moving with the speed and power required to make the hit a threat, it felt impossible. The hair-band that had been slowly working itself loose all afternoon finally gave up. I slipped it onto my wrists and tucked the loose strands behind my ears, not wanting to stop for a moment until I got the move right. I went back to my original stance and raised my staff. Sihtric bless his heart raised his as well, even though we both knew he could simply step out of the way. I focused on my feet, kept my eyes trained on his, and swung.

 

A few things happened at once. My hair slipped from behind my ear, blocking my view. I got the footwork wrong _again_. Without my sight, I couldn’t see the rock lying in wait. I swung as forcefully as I could, tripped over the rock, flew through the air and tackled Sihtric to the ground. I’m not sure which one of us screamed in a higher pitch. We landed heavily, the force of the impact knocking the air from my lungs. I rolled off the Dane and lay still for a moment. I ached _everywhere_ , from the fall but also from the strain of tensing my muscles and swinging the staff over and over.

 

“That is _not_ what I meant by aggressive.”

 

“I’m an instrument of pain, Sihtric. I can’t be controlled.”

 

As I climbed to my feet, hot pain shot through my right wrist. I winced, sucking my breath through my teeth and pulling it close on instinct.

 

“Show me.”

 

Sihtric held his hand out, and feeling like a reprimanded toddler, I complied. He turned my wrist over a few times and prodded it (which _hurt_ ).

 

“That’s enough for today.” Sihtric said. Seeing my face fall, he set a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It will take time. Have patience.”

 

It was frustrating to call it a day after making so little progress. I sighed heavily, picking up our abandoned staffs and putting then back in the rack. I left shortly after; the light was fading from the sky and I had no intentions of being late back to the stables. The afternoon work was much the same as the morning, with the addition of feeding the horses too. Rodor was still acting like a ray of sunshine, so I ignored him and focused my attention on our four-legged friends instead. It was dark when we’d finished. I returned to Sihtric’s home for a much-needed meal, then I had an appointment with my bed to keep.

 

TLK TLK TLK

 

To my 21st Century brain, sharing a home with someone of the opposite sex in a platonic manner was normal. I’d lived in mixed houses for all three years of my university experience, as had many people I knew. I learned very quickly it was _not_ considered normal in this time. Those who had been at Dunholm understood why Sihtric had made the offer. They knew I had no-one else. They’d seen me at my most vulnerable. While they didn’t know the details, they knew my time in the fortress had been less than pleasant and so understood why sleeping alone, with only a door and a bolt for security, was _terrifying_ to me. Even then I think it had taken them a few weeks to really wrap their heads around it. Hild had politely asked me more than once if there was something between Sihtric and I. I’d laughed them all off, finding the idea hilarious. I’d met Sihtric in the worst period of my life, where romance couldn’t have been further from my mind. We’d forged a friendship through mutual distaste for our situation, but that was all. I couldn’t even imagine him in that way. It was just too _weird_.

 

_And I highly doubt he sees me as a romantic partner after so many close encounters with my wee bucket._

 

Seeing me literally _crying_ with laughter at the thought, combined with Sihtric’s truly horrified expression was apparently convincing enough. Once they understood we weren’t living in a pit of sin and unmarried-scandal it seemed to lessen their discomfort, and gradually they came to accept it. As amusing as I’d found the whole debacle, it had been frustrating as well. I appreciated that the standards and ways of life were different, I truly did. But to have my new friends so openly take exception to something, even if only initially, hurt.

 

As I’m sure you can imagine, if the people who knew me took _weeks_ to accept the situation, it was worse with those who didn’t.

 

Rodor and I hadn’t seen eye-to-eye from the word go. I didn’t appreciate his cold, workmanlike manner with the horses, and he thought I was a bloody lunatic. He’d caught me cooing at Dorito one day and had told me firmly that I was ‘quite mad if I thought they could understand my incessant blathering’. The stable-hand was a product of his time, rigid in his beliefs and unflinching in his disapproval of me. One day it appeared he had tired of keeping his feelings to himself, and he’d approached me by the huge pile of horse dung beyond the stable.

 

“Do you intend to marry that boy, or will you persist with your unseemly arrangement?”

 

I’d been facing the other way, so his voice took me by surprise. I was still pretty jumpy and I flinched, dropping the fork. I turned to meet his eyes, taking in his expression. He seemed annoyed, as if he took personal offence to my living situation.

 

“I'd rather marry a horse than Sihtric,” I joked, trying to take the tension down a notch.

 

Based on the appalled look I was given, this had been a bad move.

 

“You are _repulsive_. Do you not know God, Woman?”

 

“It’s none of your business, and I _shouldn’t_ have to explain myself to you.” I snapped, less than impressed to have him regarding me like shit on a shoe. “But Sihtric and I are good friends, so we’re living together. There’s nothing else to it.”

 

“I doubt that. It is _no_ secret that you were rescued from Dunholm. To offer yourself in return is simply immoral.”

 

“Did you just suggest that I’m _screwing him_ to say _thank you_?” I snarled, one part flabbergasted and one part _furious._

 

“It is obvious.” Rodor returned flippantly.

 

I’d stooped to pick up the fork before I’d even blinked, jabbing him in the chest with the handle end.

 

“Don’t you _dare_ assume something like that! Sihtric is an honourable man and I _won’t_ hear you sully his name. He would never accept something like that, and I would never give it!”

 

“And yet you live together, unmarried. If not to serve him then for what possible purpose? I find I do not believe you. ”

 

“I don’t give a _fuck_ what you think!” I pulled my arm back, grabbed the bucket in my other hand and pushed past him. “You asked me not to bother you, consider it _done._ ”

 

I marched away with all the fury of an actual thunderstorm, actively working to keep myself from spinning and launching the bucket at his _head._ We avoided each other like the plague after that, though I didn’t miss the disapproving looks he sent my way. My role in the stables was literally just shit-shovelling, while Rodor was tasked with the nicer jobs like cleaning the tack and horses. That was fine by me because it meant we were even less likely to cross paths. It was also quite advantageous, because there weren’t enough horses to keep me busy all day. This left a little pocket of time where I could embarrass myself with a wooden stick. On days where there were more pressing things for the guard to attend to than play-fighting, I went over the simple movements and tried to perfect them. On other days, different members of our little squad took it in turns to teach me. I’d initially been surprised anyone other than Sihtric was willing to deal with my complete and utter inadequacy. I suppose they didn’t want me to die horribly the moment I lifted my sword. That and the fact that I hadn’t had a _single_ training session without messing up, and this was rather entertaining to an onlooker.

 

I’d spoken to Hild about what she wore while fighting and found she favoured a pair of breeches under a long tunic, slit down the sides to allow for ease of movement. I wanted to have some made, but my meagre wages wouldn’t stretch that far for quite some time. In the end Hild had lent me the older, beaten-up set she no longer wore, which I’d insisted I would only keep until I could pay for my own.

 

It had taken a few weeks of training in the spare hours I could find, but I could now enact the swings, slashes and movements correctly. I hadn’t been permitted to actually _fight_ someone until I could do all the basics properly, having them drilled into me to ensure I didn’t forget my form or make a fatal mistake in the heat of the moment. Now I could swing a stick without tripping over my own feet, we were moving onto working with an opponent. Finan was my babysitter today and I expected him to show me some form of blocking so I wouldn’t be immediately decapitated. That wasn’t the case. Medieval fighting seemed focused on being the aggressor with no room for passivity. Instead he wanted me to counter his incoming hit and ‘displace the blow’, which was supposed to create an opening I would then exploit. I took up the well-worn stance, and to say I was apprehensive was an understatement.

 

“You’re stiff. Relax,” he bade me, indicating my white knuckled grip on the staff.

 

“No, you’re stiff.”

 

This earned me an unbearable smirk, and I promptly choked on my tongue.

 

_What’s next, ‘your mum’? Keep the comedy genius to yourself and focus on learning how not to die._

 

Finan started speaking, forcing me into action. _Nothing_ could be worse than hearing how he would respond to that. I stepped forward and swung in a clean arc. He countered the move easily, knocking my staff in the opposite direction and nearly straight out of my hand. He didn’t even pause, taking another swing at me while my arm was still flung out to one side. I panicked and ducked under the staff before jumping backwards, hoping to give myself a second to get my staff up to deflect his next move. I was barely upright and the staff was flying towards my face so I quickly moved to meet it. But my staff struck the end of his and glanced off, leaving a gap for the Irishman to tap my neck.

 

I groaned, pushing the fake sword away from me. I’d hoped that knowing the basics would make it easier to build on them, but it appeared I was right back to being useless now something novel had been introduced.

 

“If ya _wait_ for me to attack ya, you’ll be standin when the blow comes,” the Irishman pointed out, that damn grin still there. The fool probably fought Danes with it fixed in place.

 

I readied myself and with no warning Finan attacked. I met his swing, putting all the strength I had into my own strike, and was rewarded by deflecting his movement. My version of the move was nowhere near as effective as his though, and in an instant he’d recovered, changed angle and was tapping my neck _again._

 

“Move faster and hit harder,” he instructed, stepping back.

 

I complied, and that was how the afternoon panned out. Sometimes I’d manage to knock two of his blows away, but normally he’d get me after the first. I just wasn’t fast or strong enough to get him in a position where I could launch my own attack. The thing is, hitting harder and moving faster are easier said than done. The staff wasn’t even that heavy yet wielding it for any period of time made my arms ache. I could hold it for longer than I could the first day, but building muscle was a slow journey. We were sat leaning against the hall, my noodle-arms refusing to co-operate until they were given a breather, observing Sihtric fight Rypere. Finan used the time to narrate for me, which was one part useful and two parts piss-take.

 

Sihtric did something fancy, his opponent did something fancier, and my friend was on the back foot.

 

“Ya see, _that_ was a mistake.”

 

I nodded, trying to figure out what had just happened. Then in one swift motion, Rypere had Sihtric on the floor with a sword at his throat.

 

“Are ya sure ya should be teachin Adeline?” Finan hollered.

 

 _If this is the medieval version of heckling, I am_ here _for it._

 

“Sihtric are you a mop? Because that guy just wiped the _floor_ with you!”

 

The mop shot us an incredulous look from his place on the ground. We quickly realised how insensitive we were being, stopped laughing and showered him with apologies.

 

…

 

Are you kidding me? I was laughing so hard at his expression I was _snorting_ like a _pig._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down! Featuring the return of Adeline's short temper and her being utterly useless at defending herself. And a little bit of resolution in regards to her total breakdown last time. So, we have 3 years of time to cover between episode 4 and 5 of season 2. I'm not going to skip it entirely like the show, purely because it would gloss over so much of Adeline's development. But I won't go into intricate detail either, and there will be time skips. Hopefully I can strike a happy medium! 
> 
> Leave a comment and let me know what you thought, reading your comments never fails to make my day. 
> 
> Until next time loves :)


	9. Deploying the Airbags

Eventually, _anything_ will become your normal. I’d been living with Sihtric for months, trying to figure out whether his snoring was loud enough to actually summon the dead. I was frequently woken in the middle of the night, cold, sweaty and fighting an onslaught of memories, and this brought me up close and  _ personal  _ with his wheezing. 

 

One night in particular it was so bad I couldn’t get back to sleep. Tired, crabby and frustrated I jumped out of bed, nearly tripping in the darkness, and ripped his blanket away. I expected the blast of cold air to wake him, instead he simply rolled over, emitting another foghorn-noise. So of course, a perfectly reasonable next step would be to roll the cover up into a massive fabric-sausage and smack him on the back with it. He awoke with a shout, disoriented and confused in the darkness. With a hiss off “Stop snoring!” I snuggled back down beneath my sheets. Honestly, I see it as payback for making me think I was experiencing my first earthquake. 

 

The days were routine and working in the stables was  _ exhausting _ . After graduating university I started working at a pharmaceutical company based around more natural remedies, a kind of middle ground between homeotherapy and traditional drug treatments. I’d enjoyed it as much as you can enjoy a job, and for a long time working in the stables felt like a step down. But I couldn’t deny that spending so much time around horses  _ was  _ enjoyable, and eventually I grew to appreciate it. So I spent many hours with horse poo for company, squeezing in sword training where possible. Some nights were quiet, while some found us in the tavern, or sharing a meal in the hall with Uhtred and Gisela. I hadn’t interacted with our Lord too frequently since arriving, but when I had I’d worked hard to behave accordingly. I kept quiet more than anything, hardly trusting myself not to say something inflammatory by accident. 

 

I thought of Thyra often. Had she taken to her new life with Beocca, or did she still sit, cold, quiet and carved from stone? I wanted so badly to help her. But I hadn’t forgotten how my presence had made her even  _ more  _ detached, how only the priest seemed able to reach her. He was what she needed, and I would just have to deal with that.

After an awkward conversation with Hild, I’d found out early on that scraps of linen were the method of choice when surfing the crimson wave, and had them stockpiled under my bed. Tampons weren’t the only creature comforts I missed. Let’s have a moment of silence for the dearly departed modern wonders: meat feast pizza, toilets that don’t look like the gates of hell, spotify and the internet. I missed a thousand and one things, though my longing for the materialistic couldn’t match how I yearned for my family. I feel like it’s stating the obvious to say I wanted to go home. I wanted it more than  _ anything.  _ But as far as I knew there would be no returning. So I tried to make the best of it, tried not to dwell, because thinking for too long on everything I’d lost made me want to cry and cry and  _ cry.  _

There was cause for celebration after I’d been at Coccham for nearly six months: our Lady was pregnant. There would be a grand feast at the hall to commemorate the occasion, and I was  _ psyched.  _ Sadly, I couldn’t break out my infamous (awful) twerking skills without starting some kind of 9th Century riot. The night opened with the actual ‘feast’ part, which involved me consuming an unholy quantity of the slow roasted meat at the end of the table. I grabbed another slice whenever I thought no-one was looking. Like a vulture picking at a carcass, I had  _ no  _ shame. After the food came the fun. The atmosphere was jovial and boisterous, in no small part thanks to the  _ river  _ of ale flowing through the hall. Some men were playing dice games while many sat, drank, and enjoyed the night with their friends.

Uhtred had dragged the guys away to arm-wrestle, leaving me with Gisela and Hild. I hadn’t had as much to do with Uhtred’s wife as I would have liked, so I took the opportunity to ask her about her life before she became embroiled in the madcap adventures of her husband. This led to Hild sharing details of her life as a traditional nun, also pre-Uhtred. It was fascinating- one man had shaped all our lives, veering them off of their original course and binding them together.

“How does this compare to a celebration from your land?” Gisela asked.

I steeled myself, pushing back the stab of longing. When I looked around me, tonight shared little with a party at home. There was no pounding music or lethal, bright green shots. No embarrassing selfies or frantic cooking of chips at 3am to fend off the impending hangover.

“Well… everyone’s already had too much to drink, which is  _ exactly  _ the same. But I haven’t made it into a snapchat story with someone’s boxers on my head, so there are differences too.”

I scooped the ale pitcher from the table and poured myself another mug. 

“What are boxers?”

“Ohhhh nothing interesting. Just a male clothing item.”

“Then why were they on your  _ head _ ?”

“A fair question Hild. It’s one of many I can’t answer. I woke up in my kitchen once, covered in flour and egg yolks. Someone had tried to turn me into a pie but forgot to put me in the oven. Luckily. I never found out  _ why _ .”

“You attract trouble unlike anyone I have met. Except perhaps Uhtred.” Gisela concluded.

“I’ll take that as a compliment! Now I can’t believe I haven’t congratulated you yet. How are you feeling?”

“I am delighted! And apprehensive. I know Uhtred will be a good father, but our future is uncertain. His life is not a peaceful one.”

“Nothing is certain, Gisela. We cannot know what the future holds - it is senseless to fear it. We can only take our happiness in each moment, take it and hold on _tight_. We have a _good_ life here.”

_ Hild would be a great motivational speaker.  _

 

“We do,” Gisela agreed, smiling softly. 

 

There was a particularly loud shout from our left, piquing our interest. 

 

“Now, I find myself  _ overwhelmed  _ with curiosity. Let us see what commotion our men have caused.” Gisela declared, beckoning us over to the table.

Sihtric was wrestling Clapa, and one look at the big man’s face made it clear he was just humouring him. Sihtric was putting his all into the fight and couldn’t move Clapa’s hand by even an  _ inch.  _ Looking at them, a cunning plan to secure an underdog victory sprung to mind. I put my half-finished drink down by my housemate, pushed through the onlookers until I was standing directly behind Clapa, leant down and tickled his sides. My target jumped and yelped in surprise, giving Sihtric an opening to slam his opponents arm down. My mission complete, and I was about to make a run for it when Clapa spun around to level me with an absolute  _ look.  _

 

I’d been caught red handed. There was really only one suitable cause of action. 

“You’ll never take me alive!”

I dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut, hitting the floor and crawling under the table. I could hear the cheering, laughing and shouts of ‘cheat!’ from above. I surfaced on the other side, taking the winners proffered hand and climbing to my feet. Sihtric handed me my mead and we downed our drinks, emerging with matching froth moustaches and silly grins.

“Uhtred this is a sham!”

Clapa was still vehemently protesting my involvement. I refilled mine and Sihtric’s mug and proposed a toast ‘to teamwork’ instead of replying.

“I saw nothing,” Uhtred smirked, only turning away from Gisela long enough to answer the question.

This seemed to settle the matter, and when I handed Clapa a full mug of ale, our blood-feud too was rapidly laid to rest. The system of who played who was either very confusing, or the alcohol was starting to work it’s magic. Sihtric’s controversial victory meant his next opponent was another man from Uhtred’s guard named Rypere. They faced off across the table, bets were hastily made, and the next round began. Cheering an arm-wrestling match is really weird, because beyond grunting and straining and constipated expressions, nothing really happens until the finale. So I of shouted along with the crowd, trying to look like this was a normal friday night for me. The bodies beside me parted as Finan pushed his way through, full tankard in hand, and began to offer  _ very  _ loud encouragement.

“You didn’t fancy a go?” I asked, raising my voice over the cacoughany.

“He has already lost to me!” Clapa shouted before the Irishman could get a word out.

“It is harder to win alone!  _ Some of us _ did not have help.”

“I’m sure I have no  _ idea  _ what you’re talking about.”

As I spoke, Sihtric overpowered Rypere and made good his victory. This meant lots of cheering and manly bro-hugs all around, more toasting, and  _ more  _ drinking. Would Uhtred have any ale left after tonight? The odds weren’t looking good.

My housemate was crowned the victor, someone appeared from somewhere with a set of dice and a bowl, and a new game began. This was less of a spectator sport so most of the crowd had drifted away, leaving only Hild, Sihtric, Finan, Clapa, Rypere and myself to play. I didn’t want to  _ know  _ where Uhtred and Gisela had disappeared to. The game involved rolling 3 six-sided dice. A score of less than 10 meant all players paid the medieval version of the monopoly banker the stake, where a score of 10 or above meant the banker paid out double the stake. The banker changed after each roll, and the roller passed the die on after 3 losses. They were to pass the die in a complete circle 4 times. I had no intention of squandering the miniscule amount of wealth I’d accumulated on a game, so I just watched. Also in the we’re-not-idiots-with-our-money corner was Hild.

By the time the die were on their third lap Rypere was doing well, with everyone else lagging behind him at an equal pace. Then Clapa stormed away with it in a dramatic late surge to victory, leading to loud outcries from the other men.

“Celebrate with a handstand Clapa!”

It had became a stupid joke amongst my friends at university that whoever won each drinking game had to do a handstand. This rarely ended well, considering none of us could even do one sober. Obviously my outburst was met with queries as to the nature of this ‘handstand’, leading to stamping and clapping and insisting I demonstrate. I knew it was a bad idea. The  _ table  _ was  _ blurry.  _ That should have been an immediate red flag. But now I’d spoken, the desire to bring a piece my world to the 9th Century was overwhelming. There was so  _ little  _ I could share with them that I couldn’t bring myself to just drop the idea. Besides. My need to see Clapa try it far outweighed any self-preservation instincts I had. So I agreed, and it was only then I remembered I was wearing a dress.

_ Unless I want to flash the crown jewels, perhaps a wardrobe change? _

 

I ducked out of the hall and legged it back to Sihtric’s home. Once inside I quickly threw off my dress and donned Hild’s fighting clothes. I burst back into the hall no more than a minute later, trying to ignore how my head spun with the quick movement. The players had vacated the chairs and taken to their feet now, so it was easy for me to slip into the group. 

 

“Why are ya dressed for battle?” Finan asked, looking alarmed.

 

I stared at him dumbly for a minute, before I realised my attire may have been a  _ little  _ inappropriate. I hadn’t  _ once  _ seen a woman wearing anything other than a dress in my entire stay at Coccham. Shit, did he actually think I expected a fight to break out? 

 

“I can’t do a handstand in a dress. Women wear trousers all the time at home!” 

 

This had exactly the  _ opposite _ effect to what I intended. I now had the attention of the group, who wore expression varying from mild surprise to astonishment. 

 

“Truly?” Hild asked, not sounding convinced.

 

“ _ Yes _ !” 

 

This had gone south  _ rapidly.  _ On reflection it wasn’t surprising. Our cultures shared little, but drunken-me hadn’t had the forethought to consider that before dropping the bombshell. At the time I’d been confused by their strong reactions. I was also being bombarded by memories, unable to help drawing comparison between my past and present. This was meant to be  _ fun,  _ me revealing a part (admittedly a dumb one) of my life that wouldn’t be totally lost on my friends. Now I felt silly, nostalgic, and  _ everyone  _ was staring at me. 

 

_ Less sulking, more gymnastics.  _

 

“Do you all want to see the fabled handstand or not?” I flapped my arms around my body, indicating I needed space, and the group backed off a little.

“Oh not you you plum,” I muttered, grabbing Sihtric’s arm and pulling him back over. “Catch my legs. Like seriously, catch them? Or this won’t end well for  _ either _ of us.”

“How am I to catch your legs?” my baffled housemate asked, looking a little like he feared for his life.

“You’ll know when it happens.”

I took a few steps back from him, frowned when I realised I hadn’t moved in a straight line, and re-adjusted my trajectory. Once I was happy with the distance I took a deep breath, did that classic hands-above-head-raised-knee shit, and went for it. My hands hit the floor, my legs flew into the air, and for a split second I thought I was going to do a full flip, break my back and ruin my life. But hands grabbed hold of my calves and held me, albeit wobbling profusely, in place.

“YES! YES! Sihtric you are my best fucking friend because  _ no one  _ has done that right before!”

“This is a handstand?” he asked, sounding proud. And so he should be! He was the  _ master  _ of leg holding. Clearly born for the role.

“Yes!”

_ I feel a draft. _

_ Why is my stomach cold? _

_ Oh good god, the shirt is slipping. _

“Down! Down! Down!” I screamed, wriggling frantically and trying to summon the force to my aid.

My leg-bearer floundered, pushing my legs forwards, backwards, sideways, every way  _ apart  _ from down. If I didn’t do something  _ the airbags were going to be deployed.  _ I transfered my weight onto one arm and lifted the other to rectify the situation. The remaining arm holding my weight buckled almost instantly and I found myself travelling towards the floor at an alarming rate. I lay in a dazed pile for a second, letting my vision and hearing re-align itself with the mortal plane. I saw concerned faces peering down at me, so I beamed back.

“And that’s how we do it in Seddington!”

After seeing me break a fall with my face, Clapa elected not to attempt a handstand. Wise man. I watched as more rounds of dice were played, with the moustached Dane proving to be an absolute  _ legend _ . He never lost a game. An atrociously drunk Finan regaled us with more of his stories, his accent getting thicker the more he drank. Uhtred and Gisela had finally returned, looking equally pleased with themselves. Sihtric was still basking in the glow of his arm-wrestling crown as he laughed with Hild, the nun looking content that her bunch of misfits were enjoying themselves. I sat back, saying little, soaking up the good vibes like a sponge. I felt oddly content, a kind of inner peace I hadn’t once experienced since my abrupt arrival.

We woke up the next morning draped over various pieces of furniture.

TLK TLK TLK

Anniversaries are a mixed bag, aren’t they? Birthdays are the best when you’re a kid, and as you grow older and people forget, or you’re just too busy to care. My own birthday was buried in my stay at Dunholm and so was tainted forever. Wedding anniversaries are a nightmare for forgetful partners up and down the land, and the anniversary of a death is often a remorseful, sombre time.

Today marked the passing of one year since I’d arrived at Coccham. In that time I’d settled into my medieval life, appreciating it’s simplistic nature and even coming to enjoy parts of it. The pain and the longing had faded from a sharp sting to a dull ache. Ever present,  _ always there,  _ but manageable. Or it had until that morning, when it felt like my heart was breaking all over again. I walked around with black clouds over my head, for once wanting nothing more than to be finished with my work at the stables. The moment the evening feeds were finished I was off, grabbing a wooden staff and took it behind Sihtric’s to practise. I started off just running through the movements, but somewhere along the line I got a little frustrated. I  _ may _ or may not have been caught smashing the staff into the ground, a torrent of curse words pouring out of my mouth.

I heard a cough and paused my tirade, turning to find Hild behind me. I expected her to ask me why I was acting like I crazy person. Instead she sat down on the grass, back leant against the house, and said nothing. I was so surprised by her appearance my anger had petered out without me noticing. Feeling a little silly, I dropped the staff and sat next to her.

“It’s been a year.” I said eventually, plucking at the grass beneath my fingers and avoiding the nun’s eyes. “I was captured exactly a year ago.”

“And you miss your home?”

“Coccham is… not where I imagined my life would end up, but I _am_ happy. There’s no way back, I accepted that before I even arrived here. The thing is, I want to hold onto my memories _and_ enjoy this too. Most of the time I can do that. But today I just miss them _so_ _much_ it doesn’t seem _possible_!”

I don’t know when I started crying, or when Hild had taken my hand.

“Do not begrudge your heart for hurting. Hold onto your memories and allow them to give you strength.” 

“What if my family spend the rest of their lives looking for me? They will never know what happened. How is that  _ fair _ ?” I sobbed.

“It isn’t.” Hild replied. I appreciated her honesty; the last thing I wanted was worthless platitudes. 

It was my deepest, darkest fear, something I’d never dared to say aloud. Because to my mum and dad, to my sister, I’d vanished into thin air. They were due a lifetime of trying to piece together clues that didn’t exist, of wondering if I’d upped and ran away, of having no idea if I was alive or dead. Would I be breaking news, then page 30 in the newspaper, then a cold case? How long would my parents keep looking when  _ everyone _ told them it was hopeless?

We didn’t say anything for a long time after that.

Hild got to her feet and left abruptly some time later. She returned so quickly I barely had time to feel confused, a wooden staff in her hand.

“Would you like to hit something that will hit you back?”

I nodded, jumping to my feet and reclaiming my abandoned weapon. “I thought you'd never ask.”

I remembered my bold claim to fight with Uhtred and scoffed at my naivety. Those Hollywood movies where the lead learns to fight with the best of ‘em in a 3-minute montage are  _ bullshit.  _

I’d been learning sword-skill on and off for a year, and with a little luck, I would survive a small skirmish. An out and out battle, surrounded by men who’d been raised in this brutality and were twice as strong as me? No chance. Sihtric had made it abundantly clear that I wasn’t going  _ anywhere  _ until I could properly defend myself. I quite like my head attached to my shoulders, so I was inclined to agree. Still, I was slowly making progress, and I hoped that my perseverance would pay off at some point. It was a shame I couldn’t learn something more aim-based, because I felt I’d have more success than in something so focused around brute force. I’d mentioned this to Sihtric once and he’d sardonically suggested I throw my sword at the enemy. I hadn’t asked again. 

Hild made the first move, a downward strike that I knocked out of the way with little trouble. I swung for the opening at her side but the nun was fast, easily stepping out of the way. Her staff flew towards my head, I ducked and flung mine up to meet hers as she took a second swing. Finan had drilled me on that move over and over again until I could do it fast enough, insisting that if I wanted to duck I needed to recover quickly enough to face the next attack. We continued like that for a time, parrying, ducking, spinning and dodging. Hild was a worthy opponent, more experienced than I, and I began to tire before she did. Our staffs met, our eyes locked, and for a heartbeat it was a stalemate. Hild kneed me in the stomach too quickly for me to react. I staggered backwards, trying to block out the rapidly blossoming pain. She didn’t pause, pushing into my space and swinging for my head again before I’d had a second to think. In a last ditch attempt to avoid her strike I dropped like a dead weight, grabbed her ankle and yanked. The nun lost her balance, arms windmilling, but didn’t fall. I scrambled to my feet, took hold of my weapon and swung. She’d already recovered though and twisted to one side, my staff narrowly missing her. I’d put so much force into the move I struggled to right myself without anything to hit. I was only off balance for a moment, but it was enough, and I felt the dreaded tapping at my neck.

I stepped backwards, clutching my middle and panting as I tried to regain my breath.

“There is more to sword fighting than a sword. Use your body as a weapon if the opportunity is there, anything you can do to throw them off balance will help you. You must move faster, and you must  _ not  _ falter when you are hurt.”  Hild explained, barely looking rumpled. Then she smiled. “There is always more to learn, but you are improving!”

_ Why does this feel like parent’s evening? _

“You kicked my arse, Hild.” I deadpanned.

“I believe it was your stomach.”

Hild’s mouth was twisted into a lopsided grin, and I couldn’t figure out whether she was taking the piss or genuinely misunderstanding the expression. Cryptic woman.

I thought again of my family. The future was just that, the future, and far beyond my reach. Thinking of them made me want to  _ hurt  _ something. The fight had helped to clear my head a little, the aggression and rush of adrenaline searing through my veins. I wanted  _ more _ .

“Can you show me some non-sword stuff? I’d love to take the guys by surprise.” 

“It should not be relied upon, it is more for tight situations,” she advised, to which I nodded. A smirk stretched across her lips. “Then I would be  _ delighted  _ to show you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much fun making her drink muahaha. Some big time skips coming our way now, but there's still a fair few chapters to go before we get to episode 5. I wanted to include the anniversary thing because I know a lot of people (myself included) find sad anniversaries really tough, even though so much time has passed since the event. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this one! Let me know what you thought, I'm a hoe for a comment. 
> 
> Until next time loves :)
> 
> Edit - I'm on tumblr, my handle is MedievalFangirl just like here. I'm always happy to chat about the story so if you have any questions please do pop over!


	10. The Unicorn Underwear Cannot Be Suppressed

You’ve probably forgotten how one night, at the end of my rope with his snoring, I violently woke my housemate via quilt-sausage. I thought he had too. _Oh no._ He’d been playing some sort of sleeper cell, long game deal and waited _months_ before enacting his revenge. One morning, I blearily came into awareness to a wet, tickling sensation on my face. That and a _foul_ smell. This was a confusing way to start a day, but it all became clear when I opened my eyes. I shuffled back with a shriek, a few leaves and pieces of carrot tumbling down my front as I did so. There was a _pig._ In my _bed._ Eating it’s breakfast off of my _face._

 

“Oh come on what the _fuck_?” I exclaimed, getting to my feet and gently trying to move the pig.

 

Sihtric was standing in the kitchen laughing himself silly and _of course_ the animal ignored me, happily munching it’s vegetables.

 

“Are you going to help or just laugh like a bloody hyena?” I snapped, still pushing fruitlessly at my unexpected guest.

 

“It is not in _my_ bed. I see no problem.”

 

“Oh I’ll show you a _problem_.”

 

In the end I managed to coax our very own _Peppa Pig_ outside by taking the food she hadn’t already devoured and baiting her with it. She was a very friendly pig, and still quite small, snuffling at my hands in a way that was undeniably cute. I gave her a soft pat on her back before setting my sights on the instigator of this whole thing, who maintained his kitchen vantage point.

 

“Where on _earth_ did you get a pig from? You better put her back.”

 

“Of course.” he replied mildly, at last moving outside. “Though your accusations are unfounded. I am innocent in this matter.”

 

_Innocent my arse. I shall have my revenge Sihtric, in this life or the next._

 

Gisela gave birth to a healthy baby boy shortly after I marked a year at Coccham. Despite the misgivings his mother had shared with Hild and I the night we celebrated her pregnancy, life was easy during in his infancy. Later we looked on this period as a time of peace. The boy was around 10 months old when Uhtred received word from father Beocca regarding Thyra. It appeared she was making progress, having had nearly 2 years to recover from her ordeal. She’d asked after her brother and to my surprise, myself. For a long time I’d considered our friendship ruined but it seemed that wasn’t the case.

Uhtred decided to visit Wintanceaster on the grounds of some diplomatic nonsense with Alfred- it was obvious how keen he was to see his sister again. He travelled with Clapa and a few men from the guard, but Sihtric, Finan and Hild would be remaining to hold the fort at Coccham. It was only to be a flying visit after all. What surprised me more than anything was when he invited me to accompany him. Initially I’d worried I would be replaced at the stables, which would make taking the trip impossible. I needed a job to return to. Uhtred put my fears to rest, assuring me someone would only step in temporarily. Any delusions I had of him thinking I was a loyal employee who deserved a holiday who quickly dashed however, when he explained the situation to me. In his letter, Beocca had suggested I come along, thinking Thyra would benefit from speaking with someone who understood. I wasn’t convinced that I’d be able to help her – she’d suffered far more than I had and I couldn’t imagine a situation where she’d willingly discuss it. The chances were slim, but they _existed_ , so I had to try.

 

There was no dramatic farewell, as we were to stay for a few weeks at the most. I’d opted to travel in the clothes Hild had lent me, remembering how cumbersome riding in a long dress had felt. This earned me a few odd looks, though I don’t think anyone would _ever_ be as surprised as when my drunk-ass stumbled into the party wearing it all that time ago . At least the occasion somewhat called for it here. After bothering Nerian incessantly he’d allowed me to ride Dorito again. He’d clearly thought me very weird for having a preference, but considering it didn’t affect Uhtred in any way, he indulged me.

 

Just like last time the journey took the best part of the day. But unlike last time, our first destination wasn’t the inn. The men took the horses to be cared for while Uhtred and I headed straight for Father Beocca’s house. My stomach was twisting with anticipation as he knocked on the door, a feeling I could see mirrored on my Lord’s face. His sister had not been so welcoming during their last meeting.

 

The door swung open to reveal a smiling Beocca.

 

“Uhtred, what a joy it is to see you!”

 

“Beocca!”

They embraced, laughing merrily and clapping each other on the back. I stood awkwardly to one side, fingers playing with the end of my plait. The old friends parted and the priest stepped to one side, letting another figure step forward. Thyra looked so different an involuntary gasp slipped from my mouth. Her auburn locks were neatly arranged to fall softly past her shoulders, curling at the ends and ruffled by the breeze. She was still pale, but less dramatically _._ It gave her an ethereal beauty instead of painting a picture of someone with one foot in the grave. The most startling difference however was her expression. I can only describe it as _light._ It seemed she no longer carried the weight of the world on her delicate shoulders. Her face held none of the ghost-like absence that I’d came to associate with her.

 

“Thyra,” Uhtred whispered. His brow was furrowed. His hands twitched. It was clear how much she meant to him, how badly he wanted this reconciliation. “I swear to you I thought you dead. I would _never_ have left you there if I had known.”  

 

For a moment she didn’t reply. Then finally, _finally,_ a smile stole it’s way over her face. For a long time, I’d worried she would never smile again.

 

“I know,” she replied quietly.

 

“You are happy here, you fare well?”

 

“I do. It is good to see you, Uhtred.”

 

Thyra stepped forward and pulled him into an embrace, Uhtred clinging onto her like a port in a storm. She stepped back after a moment, though the tentative smile remained on her lips. Then the redhead turned to me and a lump lodged itself at the base of my throat. I took the required step to bring myself in front of her, fighting the prickling in my eyes. My hands had dropped from my hair and were clasped in front of me. She reached forward and carefully pried one away, lacing our fingers together.

 

“Hello again, Adeline.”

 

That did it. I was reduced to a crying, sniffling mess, hanging onto her hand just as desperately as Uhtred had. But these were happy tears, and I couldn’t really begrudge them when my friend was standing alive and on the road to recovery, right in front of my eyes.

 

“You have no _idea_ how much I’ve missed you.” I replied around a watery smile.

 

“I think I might. Would you come inside? There is much I would like to know.” Thyra implored.

 

An incontainable laugh born from pure joy bubbled up inside my chest. I shared a grin with Uhtred, both of us so overwhelmingly _happy_ to see her talking and interacting and _living._ I brought up the rear as the four of us shuffled inside, swiping at the moisture that still trickled down my cheeks. Even though night had fallen before we arrived at the house, we sat inside talking for an age. And by ‘we’ I mean Uhtred did most of the talking, weaving his tale from when he struck out alone with Brida, to swearing his loyalty to Alfred, to Ethandun and beyond. Thyra listened intently, asking questions and nodding along. Father Beocca and I were fairly quiet, letting the estranged siblings catch up on what they’d missed. Thyra was my friend but Uhtred was her _brother_. This was their time.

 

While I couldn’t know for certain, I suspected it was well into the small hours before we retired at the inn. I had a room to myself this time as it was unseemly for an unmarried woman to share with a man. Which was ridiculous considering I _lived_ with Sihtric. As quickly as the thought occurred to me I recalled the disapproval I’d ran into in Coccham. After nigh on two years Rodor was still a total _dick._ He thought me a woman of low scruples, and beyond swapping muttered insults we had little do do with each other.

 

So really, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

 

It wasn’t even an issue until it came to actually _sleeping._ This was the first night I’d spent alone since being freed, and it forced the way I’d clung to company to feel safe into the light. It was illogical, but I couldn’t shake the thought that _someone was going to come in._ I could have cried or _screamed_ in frustration. I did find sleep eventually, though I wasn’t alone when I did. The nightmares had decreased in frequency but they hadn’t stopped. That night I saw Harold. He was alive and breathing, stalking towards me in the darkness. A hand reached forward to grasp my chin, but I woke before contact could be made.

 

It was as unsettling as always, and I was thankful to be whisked away by Thyra shortly after breakfast. Uhtred did in fact visit the palace to speak to Alfred- apparently it wasn’t _entirely_ a ruse. Father Beocca joined him while I accompanied my friend on a trip to the market. She intended to make a vegetable stew for us to enjoy that evening, and she wanted to see what ingredients were available.

 

“Will you tell me about your life in Coccham?” she requested, scanning some freshly picked herbs with a critical eye. “I am curious to hear how you have fared. You were so afraid of the world last we met.”

 

“Well, you’re not wrong. It took me a while to find my feet. I work in the stables and I live with Sihtric. You remember the guard who was so kind? He’s loyal to Uhtred now, and he’s the _best_ friend I could’ve hoped to have found. He’s also a bit of an idiot, but so am I.”

 

“I am glad to hear it. You live alone with him?” Thyra glanced up at me, her expression curious but not inherently accusatory.

 

“Yes. We’re friends. That’s _all_.” I replied firmly.

 

I was observed thoughtfully for a moment. I met her gaze with my own, refusing to waver or look away. I understood that she likely wouldn’t approve, but any openly given offence was _not_ going to fly. Thyra offered me a small smile before pulling a coin from the purse looped around her waist. She handed the money over and selected something that smelt _fantastic._

 

“I understand. To be alone again is… unthinkable. I made a similar choice and met fierce disapproval when I chose to live with Beocca. Although I suspect my heritage had some hand in that too.”

 

I was overwhelmingly relieved that _someone_ saw where I was coming from without having to be talked round for weeks. That emotion was quickly dashed, however, when I processed the second part of what she’d told me.

 

“People don’t like you because you’re a Dane?”

 

“They do not. The people of Wessex have suffered greatly through raiders from the North, and many do not think it is my place to live amongst them.”

 

We moved on from the herb stall and ventured further down the street, stopping again by a stall piled high with dirty vegetables.

 

“You’re not to blame for the choices _other people_ made!”

 

“That opinion is not a customary one here.” Thyra replied after a pause, refusing to meet my eyes and moving to purchase some turnips.

 

“Thyra you’re kind and you’re _good._ These people will learn to see that, and if they don’t that’s because they’re too narrow-minded to set aside their prejudices. They don’t _deserve_ your time. Besides, I bet you’ve suffered more than most. You have as much right as _anyone_ to a quiet life.”

 

“Thank you,” she responded quietly, taking her change and indicating we move on.

 

She’d ignored the reference to Dunholm. It was to be expected that she wouldn’t want to talk- heaven knows _nothing_ could convince me to. I’d never once spoken about what had happened in the fortress. I’d became adept at burying it and I had no intentions of dragging it all back into the light. Living it once had been _quite_ enough. The problem was Thyra had endured so much _more,_ was surely so much more _scarred_ than I. I had no doubt that her pain ran deeper than I could possibly imagine, and I couldn’t see how bottling it all up could be healthy.

 

“How are you … doing, with, urmm… everything?”

 

_Wow, eloquence personified. Next up, composing a sonnet to rival Shakespeare._

 

For a while I didn’t think she would respond. We walked in silence, wandering aimlessly through the streets with no clear destination. When she did we had since long left the market behind.

 

“I am well.”

 

I couldn’t help but snort. “That’s not what I asked. I want to know how you’re doing, how you’re _really_ doing. I won’t pretend to understand everything you went through, but I have an idea. I want you to know you can talk to me. About _anything_.”

 

“I am well and there is nothing to discuss.”

 

Her voice was much firmer this time, her blue eyes unyielding as they met my gaze. I was taken aback by the icy fire hidden there- she was resolute in her wish and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sway her. I wouldn’t force her to speak. It wasn’t right. I would resent anyone who tried to pull a stunt like that with me, and it was only fair to respect her wishes. She had my offer, and I hoped in time she would choose to take it of her own volition. Perhaps she had been speaking to Father Beocca? I could only hope so. She had let him in long before anyone else, allowing him to offer her a degree of comfort the very day we were rescued.

 

The mood was nicely ruined and we headed back soon after. I tried to help Thyra around the house, but I felt like I got in the way more than anything else. By the time we sat down for lunch the atmosphere was still tense and I _hated_ it.

 

“I’m sorry if I overstepped a boundary earlier.” I tried, fiddling with my bread.

 

The redhead rewarded me with a gentle smile and a nod. Some of the awkwardness seemed to melt away after that, leaving us to finish our meal in a more contented quiet.

 

The afternoon was filled with more chores, as if the life of a medieval housewife. The stew took a while to prepare without modern conveniences, and would need to be cooked over the less efficient fire for longer than it would in an oven. Night had fallen when Father Beocca and Uhtred returned, deep in conversation regarding a new burh Alfred wanted to establish. The defence of Wessex was as ever his top priority. After we ate, Uhtred mentioned a visit to the alehouse. Both Beocca and Thyra declined, likely wanting a little time to themselves after spending all day apart. I watched the soft smiles that were exchanged, yet again thankful my friend had found someone who brought her peace. My choice to accompany Uhtred was based entirely on giving them said time, rather than me love for drinking of course.

 

We were joined at our table by Steapa and a few other men Uhtred seemed to know. I was careful with the volume of liquid I consumed, not wanting a repeat of last time I drank here with the Lord. No such care was taken by the men, and it was entertaining to watch as they made less and less sense as the night progressed. The current topic of conversation was how Steapa was training Lady Aethelflaed, Alfred’s daughter, in combat. A tipsy Uhtred delighted in telling the men the bold claim I had made despite having only wielded a sword once at the time. My fists clenched involuntarily as the assembled group laughed- I was no longer so amused by them. Uhtred had been kind to me but it was starting to feel like he would _never_ take me seriously.

 

I wanted to prove myself so badly the need resonated through my _bones._ Frustration surged through me, a catty remark dancing on the tip of my tongue. I was no match for him physically but I could certainly cut him down to size with a few choice words. I almost did. Then Sihtric’s warning from so long ago sprung to mind and I bit my tongue. Uhtred would see only disrespect, and my chances of ever  measuring up in his eyes would diminish. My gaze fell upon the unnamed men at the table. While Uhtred had earned my respect, they had not.

 

“I’m not sure why you’re still laughing. There are endless ways to inflict pain and few require a sword. You’ll find I’m capable of _many_.” I turned to look at Uhtred and inclined my head respectfully. “I know you doubt me, Lord. I hope to change your mind.”

 

Steapa raised an eyebrow, leaning forward to regard me closely. His gaze swept over me in a calculating manner, and despite its intensity I didn’t feel uncomfortable. He was assessing me as an opponent I knew, seeing me only in terms of physical strength and what I could bring to the table. Judging from the look on his face he found me lacking.

 

“You cannot survive on anger alone. Any man you face will be stronger than you and I doubt you have the skill to outweigh this. How is your aim?” Steapa asked, looking thoughtful.  

 

_I can aim a kick up your arse well enough._

 

“I imagine you’d find it as sub-par as you seem to _think_ my sword skill is.”

 

“If you were able to wield more than one weapon it could give you an advantage. You should consider using a bow.” Steapa suggested, ignoring my unimpressed response.

 

“I have no idea how. Also, you know, _I don’t have one._ Kind of throws a spanner in the works doesn’t it?”

 

“I know of a man. I believe he would be willing to teach you in return for silver.”

 

“Reign check. We met once, years ago. Why do you care so much?” I snapped.

 

“Your undertaking is foolhardy and may well be the death of you. I cannot in good conscience ignore knowledge that may help you. Whether we are acquainted is irrelevant.”

 

I blinked, thoroughly taken aback. I was lingering somewhere between anger at his blatant disregard and blind assumption that I was _useless_ , and consideration of his point. My sword-skill had improved after so many months of practise, but surely it _couldn’t hurt_ to have an ace up my sleeve, another skill to call on in a crisis? I felt Uhtred’s gaze on me, no doubt wondering how I would react. For the second time that night I swallowed my pride, and nodded to Steapa.

 

TLK TLK TLK

 

And _that’s_ how I found myself attempting to get my Katniss Everdeen on behind Steapa’s mystery man’s home. I’d been entirely too distrusting to meet him alone and to my surprise, Steapa himself had agreed to take me one afternoon. He was too busy to stay indefinitely, but he did linger until I felt comfortable. When he wasn’t verbally ripping me too pieces, he was a stand-up dude. His friend, Edgar, was perhaps in his forties, his face weather-beaten and beginning to crease. He was tall with thinning hair and a serious demeanour.

 

Once I’d been shown the appropriate stance (and corrected _many_ times) I was handed a bow and shown how to nock an arrow, how to hold it in place and the correct positioning for my hands. The first real issue we ran into was draw weight. I’d developed a little muscle, but nothing like that of a regular Saxon warrior. I was just about able to use the lightest bow Edgar had, but he warned to be truly effective I would need considerable practise to build up the necessary musculature. Once we’d established that, we moved onto the draw and the anchoring. This was _ridiculously_ straining on my arms, pulling at muscles I barely knew existed. Aiming was done with both eyes open, contrary to the endless _Robin Hood_ films I’d seen.

 

After what felt like an age I was at last ready to release my first arrow. I did everything as instructed, kept my eyes locked on the crude target before me, and released partway through the exhale. The arrow sailed past the rudimentary target.

 

“A poor effort,” Edgar said, moving to retrieve the arrow from the dirt. “Your shoulders are high, you are too tense and you are not pulling back in a straight motion.”

 

“That was my first go! What were you _expecting_?” I asked incredulously.

 

“I expect you to listen to what I tell you. Again.”

 

I snatched the arrow from his outstretched hand, reloaded and took aim.

 

“Your shoulders are still around your ears, perhaps _that_ is why you are deaf to my instruction. _Lower them._ ”

 

 _You have enough hair protruding from your ears to cover the bald patch on your head but you don’t hear_ me _commenting, do you?_

 

I pushed my shoulders down as far as I could, gritting my teeth against the burning sensation washing over my muscles. I forced myself to take my time, knowing I wouldn’t succeed if I rushed the shot. The second arrow was no closer to hitting it’s mark. This time my posture had been off, so I straightened my back and had another go. Another miss. I think I made every mistake it was possible _to_ make, in _every_ area. I lost count of how many times I missed. It was nearing nightfall when finally I was able to release the arrow properly, without raising my shoulders or drawing it back wonkily. The arrow hit the outer edge of the target was a satisfying thunk. I stared open mouthed for a second before turning to Edgar with a face-splitting grin.

 

“I hit it! I actually _hit it_!”

 

“That target is wider than a man, you are at close range and you move slowly. Now you can stand correctly, _at last_ , we have much to improve.”  

 

I tilted my head to one side, finding Edgar’s manner amusing for the first time. He was gruff, sarcastic and entirely truthful.

 

I didn’t improve much over the next few days. I didn’t mind- I’d learned the hard way that these skills would need extensive practise. Edgar ruefully admitted that once I’d stopped constantly making mistakes, my aim was actually slightly above average. After being so undeniably _slow_ at learning the sword, it was a nice change of pace.  

 

Alfred requested Uhtred’s continued presence during discussions over the new burh and the training of it’s house-guard, and our stay was stretching. My days were split between spending time with Thyra and working with Edgar. I’d asked him help with my sword-skill too so I didn’t get rusty. He was equally as harsh in this department, though it was to my benefit in the long run. Amongst other things, I’d learnt a few manoeuvres to help me out of a sword-lock. No matter how hard I trained it was unlikely that I’d ever be able to overpower someone with force alone, so I needed to fight smart.

 

Now… there’s something I really can’t _not_ mention. I blame the entire debacle on me being distracted, okay? We’d been in Wintanceaster for a couple of months and I was walking back to Thyra and Beocca’s home after another bow session. I’d quickly came to enjoy the learning, and my focus was almost entirely on what we’d just been over. With my head in the clouds I didn’t notice the voices floating from the house as I approached. I also entirely missed the wayward nail jutting from the post it was _supposed_ to be nailed into. Excited to share the details of my session with Thyra I broke into a jog, passing the traitorous nail as I ascended the steps to the house. And _that_ was where it ambushed me. The clothes I’d loaned from Hild were already fraying when I’d received them. The nail found a home in a small hole on my upper thigh, my momentum carried me forwards, and my first tip that something was amiss was the ripping of fabric and a sting. I glanced down to see a faint pink line beginning on my thigh, tracking it’s way up and backwards until it disappeared under lilac fabric.  _The unicorn underwear cannot be suppressed._ They were only visible, of course, because the piece of legging that was _meant_ to conceal them was currently snuggling up to that _fucking nail._

 

_I’m standing in the street with my trousers hanging open._

 

“Shit!” I hissed, flinging the door open and ducking inside.

 

I slammed it shut and spun around in one movement. I lent my forehead on the cool wood, taking a second to calm down.

 

“Adeline?”

 

My heart dropped to my toes and I turned, slow motion, to meet Uhtred’s surprised tone. And nearly _collapsed_ when I saw who sat between him and Beocca at the table.

 

_I just flashed my underwear to the King of England._

 

I gaped for a second, too mortified to move. Then my brain kicked into gear. I gripped my tunic tightly in one hand to keep the rip covered and curtseyed deeply.

 

“I apologise for the interruption, my Lord! I didn't know you were here. I’ll leave immediately.”

 

Alfred watched me for a moment, brows low over his eyes and expression indeterminable, before dismissing me with a wave of his hand. I quickly curtseyed again, apologised _again_ , kept a tight hold of my tunic and _fled._ I was out of the door, down the steps and stumbling into the street in a heartbeat.

 

_What I’d give for a dull day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding her training with a bow - even after a few months, she’s still a beginner. She finds finds it a little easier to pick up than the sword, so naturally she wants to pursue that path as well. Even though her aim is alright, mastering a bow will still be very difficult. It’s going to take her a long time to be accurate and fast enough to use it in battle.
> 
> I wanted to include the trip away from Coccham for a few reasons. Considering Thyra is chill with Uhtred when season 2 picks back up compared to being a wee bit homicidal before, I figured they could do with a chat at some point to clear the air. I promise this little adventure isn't just filler, stick with me and all will become clear. 
> 
> What did you guys think to this one? We're over 2/3 of the way through the 3 year break now. Keep the comments coming, they're so inspirational and always bring me a smile. 
> 
> Until next time loves.


	11. Human-Pancake

Nothing as eventful as flashing the King my knickers occurred again during our stay at Wintanceaster.  _ Thank fuck.  _ Thyra, who’d been in the kitchen at the time, had told me my tunic had hidden the majority of the rip. She’d also said the men had been too surprised by my appearance and equally speedy  _ disappearance _ to notice, and it hadn’t been mentioned once I left. Small mercies. 

 

The business Uhtred had with Alfred was wrapped up shortly after my indecent exposure moment, meaning we were soon to leave. 

 

I was still an archery novice and a long way from taking a bow into battle, though Edgar assured me I had all the knowledge required. Now all I needed was time and practise. He’d taken the time to show me a few things that were currently beyond me, so I could implement them as I improved rather than stagnating. I asked him about purchasing my training bow, and he’d bluntly informed me I couldn’t afford it. He’d accepted what I could spare, however, on the basis that he’d used a bow of that weight as a ‘puny young boy’ and he had no use for it anymore.  _ Charming.  _ He’d sent me on my way with a quiver and arrows, and the warning not to use them in combat until I knew I wouldn’t waste them - they were expensive to have made. 

 

It was easier to part with Thyra this time around. Now we’d reconciled we shared a proper goodbye. She gave me a small dagger to take, having me promise to keep it on me at all times. I needed no convincing.

 

Once again we were bound for Coccham, a full day of travelling in store for us. This left an abundance of time for me to take a deep dive into my thoughts. I was excited to see our friends again of course, but more than that, I looked forward to going  _ home.  _ It wasn’t that the little medieval town had replaced Seddington in my mind - that would never happen. My memories of it remained dear, still ached, and that was  _ okay.  _ It was more like the two places co-existed, the old with the new. I was a woman of two worlds, and I’d finally made my peace with it. 

 

I was riding to Uhtred’s left, Clapa on his right, and it was a little after lunch when I spoke up.

 

“I owe you an apology, Lord.”   
  


Uhtred turned to me with a raised eyebrow, pulling off an intrigued-wary combo. Dude probably thought I’d found another way to traumatise our monarch. I hadn’t, by the way. It wasn’t something recent I needed to apologise for. Quite the opposite. It had been resting on my mind for some time, and surrounded by the peace of the wilderness, this seemed like the right moment. 

 

“When we first met… I was rude to you. I never _ meant _ to be, especially after you were good enough to take me in. I’m not gonna make excuses. I just want you to know I’m so thankful you didn’t chuck me out on my arse. And I’m sorry.” 

 

Uhtred’s face was blank for a few moments, before a wry smile stretched at his lips, and he shook his head gently. “You were disrespectful, and only for what you had endured I did allow it. I am pleased you now grant your words a little thought.”

 

_ I told Thyra that parties here would be improved with the hoedown throwdown, so I wouldn’t be so sure.  _

 

I didn’t say that of course. I thanked him and tuned out his discussion with Clapa, focusing on the rhythmic sway of Dorito’s steady gait, feeling like the bee’s knees after our lil’ moment. I had no idea what he really thought of me, but it seemed I’d dragged myself at least  _ one  _ peg above total mess.

 

The walls of Coccham greeted us in the distance by dusk, and that last length of our journey seemed to take the longest. I was excited and in a moment of childish indulgence I pulled the hair tie from my plait, the breeze making light work of tossing the strands. The guards welcomed us and the gates were opened, allowing our horses to stroll over the well-worn paths and through the town. Men met us and relieved us of our steeds, Uhtred making straight for the hall doors. We trotted after him, eager for a stationary seat and something to eat. Cheers erupted as the Lord pushed open the doors, the houseguard along with Gisela and mini-Uhtred waiting for him within. 

 

His family greeted Uhtred first, and it was heartwarming to see the tender kiss he bestowed upon wife and child. After that, I not-so-patiently waited while the men shoulder-grabbed and man-hugged Uhtred. To go from seeing these people every day to having no contact  _ at all _ for more than 2 months had been hard _ ,  _ and I was giddy at the thought of reunion. The moment Sihtric stepped back I rushed forward and launched myself at him like a missile. I put enough force into the jump that he lurched violently. None of this movie shit where the huger is easily caught, oh no, if the dude behind us hadn’t steadied him I think I would have  _ flattened him.  _ I felt Sihtric’s hand smooth across the wild tangles of my hair and I took a deep breath, steadying myself against an onslaught of feels. Once I was certain I wasn’t going to start leaking, I let him go.

 

“I have missed you. Are you well?” 

 

His words were simple and sincere, his smile _ good _ and dearly missed. I beamed. “I’ve missed you too!  _ God, _ it’s good to be home.” 

 

Sihtric’s eyes fell on my bow, strapped across my back from the journey. “You return to us a bow-woman?”  

 

“Yep! I started to learn in Wintanceaster. I’m a certified badass now.” 

 

“I see. We are lucky you chose to return at all,” he teased.

 

“I was _always_ going to come back.” I reached forward to take his hand, gave it a firm squeeze, and we shared a smile. _Bloody_ _hell_ friendship turns me into a mushed banana. “I mean, I had to. I bet your life has been _far_ too peaceful without me here to annoy the shit out of you. So, ta da!” 

 

Sihtric have me the look a true moment-ruiner deserves. “Your hair is a mess.” 

 

“Your eyeliner’s smudged.” 

 

Sihtric made to ruffle my hair and I ducked, pushing his arm out of the way. He pushed me back and I swayed on the spot, still smiling goofily and feeling un-apologetically  _ happy _ . A glance over his shoulder revealed Hild, who was chatting with Clapa and Finan by the food. 

 

“I’m gonna go say hi to someone who won’t _ insult  _ me,” I motioned to the nun. 

 

Sihtric muttered something under his breath as I backed away. I flipped him the bird, smirking at the confusion on his face, before turning to face the _ real  _ badass in the room. She was as beautiful as ever, face warm and welcoming as she pulled me into a quick hug. 

 

“It is lovely to see you!” She announced, stepping back to hold me at arm’s length.

 

“And you! How are you? How’s things? Your hair still looks  _ amazing _ , by the way! It’s somehow neat and fluffy at the same time. You’ve  _ got  _ to tell me what product you’re using.”

 

“You are still fond of speaking without purpose,” the nun noted with a smirk. “I am well. How do you fare?”

 

_ That’s medieval English for ‘you talk a lot of shit’, isn’t it? _

 

“I’m good! A little tired and a  _ lot  _ hungry though. I’d go for something off  _ I’m a Celebrity  _ at this point.”

 

I noted the fresh bread with glee, before turning to Finan. He was watching our interaction with a small smile, arms crossed over his chest. I pinned him with the firmest look I could muster. 

 

“We’re not gonna fight to the death over bread tonight, are we?” 

 

Openly grinning now ( _ dammit  _ why am I not scary?) Finan shook his head and pulled me in for a hug, arms strong and secure round my back. I’d never had cause to hug the Irishman before and found he gave  _ good  _ hugs. 

 

_ Good is an understatement. Now put him down.  _

 

I unwound my arms from his broad shoulders and took in his appearance for the first time. His unruly hair had been cut short, now slightly surpassed by his beard, and I couldn’t deny that it suited him. 

 

“It depends on whether ya intend to trick me again.” he quipped. 

 

“Let’s grab something to eat and we’ll find out.” 

 

The grub was  _ wonderful.  _ And let me assure you, as a sweet and sour sauce addict, I don’t say that lightly. I think it was a combination of the joyful atmosphere and the fact I was hungry enough that my stomach had been on it’s way to eating my  _ liver.  _

 

The hall was warm and full of Uhtred’s men, and I’d had rather too much to eat. Feeling a little bloated and very satisfied, I slipped out into the darkness. It was quiet, interrupted only by the dull thrum of noise from the building. I walked around to the side and settled myself against the smooth wooden exterior, cross-legged and content. The sky was clear tonight. A velvet expanse interrupted by a thousand tiny spots of light, like pin pricks through a blanket. I sat there for a while, easily able to pick out the North Star, a beacon shining brighter than any of its counterparts. Close by lay the Big Dipper, part of the Ursa Major constellation, one of-

 

“Have ya tired of our company already?”

 

I startled at the voice, so enraptured by the stars I hadn’t heard anyone approach. Finan dropped down next to me. I shot him an unimpressed look, my heart still thundering behind my ribs. He ignored me. 

 

“Could you give me some warning next time? I dunno, cough, call my name,  _ anything  _ other than sneaking up on me like an assassin?” 

 

“Ya should be payin attention to ya surroundings, rather than bein so easily distracted,” he teased. 

 

“Dude  _ look _ ,” I stressed, pointing above us. “Of course I was distracted.” 

 

“Stars in the sky. Surely not so uncommon in your own village?” 

 

I shook my head ruefully, thinking of modern-day light pollution. “Oh they were there. The problem was  _ seeing  _ them. This probably sounds crazy, but they were… hidden. The way a cloudy night hides them, but most of the time. I’ve been fascinated by the stars since I was little girl, and now I can see them better than ever before.”

 

“It does sound strange, and yet I am not surprised. I have came to expect all  _ manner _ of oddities from ya.”

 

“Bloody hell. Do I stick out that badly?” 

 

“Yes,” he deadpanned.

 

“You’re  _ supposed _ to say no.” 

 

“It is not entirely a shortcomin,” he smirked. 

 

I rolled my eyes, but didn’t bother to fight my smile. We sat in the quiet for a moment, and for the first time I felt the night’s chill. 

 

“Has anything interesting happened while we’ve been in Wintanceaster? Any gossip I should know? ” I asked, voicing the thought as soon as it occurred.

 

“All is well, there is little to tell ya.”

 

“We’re still at peace?”   
  


“We are. Coccham has no need yet for her greatest defender.” 

 

“You’re mocking me.”

 

“I would  _ never. _ ” 

 

I’d bit my tongue when Uhtred had aired his misgivings in Wintanceaster. But I wasn’t sworn to Finan, and I was  _ done  _ with listening to people doubt me. 

 

“Fight me.” I declared, enjoying seeing his eyebrows raise and surprise steal across his face. “Tomorrow, when I’ve had some sleep. With real swords.  _ Fight me. _ ” 

 

The nonplussed look was gone, replaced by something else. He regarded me seriously, before nodding. 

 

“Tomorrow. Tell me, are ya eager for defeat?”

 

He was smirking again and I laughed, any tension from my abrupt demand evaporating. “I’m eager to dish out an  _ ass-whoopin.' _ ”

 

“Is there any point in my askin what that is?” 

 

“Not really. Why don’t  _ you _ tell _ me _ why you’re out here instead?” 

 

“There was talk of a handstand, and I knew none more proficient.” 

 

“Very funny.” I replied dryly. “I’ve not had  _ nearly  _ enough ale for that. It is getting a bit cold out here, though.”

 

I jumped to my feet, dusting off my tunic. A little hand beckoning and the suggestion of more drinking had my reluctant stargazing companion quickly following suit. We wandered back inside on the hunt for mead in need of a home. 

 

I’d been too tired to stay in the hall till the small hours and had surrendered to my need for sleep far earlier than most. Sihtric’s drunk-ass had staggered in at an unholy hour and woke me up by slamming the door. It was a rare morning when he slept in, but apparently he’d drank enough that his body clock had put itself on snooze. I was so used to the routine I found myself awake without him, and for the first time since the pig, I had the opportunity for payback. I hesitated. He’d probably be hungover. He’d  _ definitely  _ appreciate his sleep. 

 

Uhtred had informed me on our ride yesterday that I’d be picking up my stable duties where I left off, starting from the first morning. I’d been more than happy with that, and now I was up and readying myself it felt good to slip back into the old routine. There was still a little water in a pitcher on the side, so I poured myself a mug to drink. Once my dry throat was addressed, I wavered, the pitcher still in hand. I’m ashamed to admit I weighed it up for no more than a second. Striding over to the other bed, I raised the jug and emptied the contents across the sleeping form. Sihtric woke up with a start, gasing and yelping. I dashed into the kitchen to place the empty vessel on the side. My housemate was a wet, floundering mess when I turned around. I grinned, crossing my arms across my chest and feeling  _ very _ accomplished. 

 

“Why would you do such a thing?” he spluttered.

 

“Me? I had nothing to do with it. I’m innocent in this matter.” 

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

Nerian, the stable master, offered me a smile and asked after my time in Wintanceaster. We spoke briefly about it before he set me to work. He was a good boss. He took no shit and didn’t stand for slacking, but he was fair. Rodor was  _ over the moon _ to see me. I’ve never seen someone’s face drop as quickly as his did when I entered the stables for the morning feed. 

 

“Hi Rodor! If the wind catches that grimace you’ll be stuck looking like you just caught a whiff of you own body odour.  _ Forever.  _ Maybe try a smile?” 

 

I didn’t wait to hear the lovely selection of words he no doubt prepared for me, setting to my work instead. I lingered a little longer with each horse than I normally would - I’d missed the furry little dudes and dudettes. Once I was finished I stood with Dorito, running my hand across his soft neck and trying to draw comfort. My stomach churning like a washing machine. I’d challenged Finan. And I’d  _ insisted  _ on real swords. I’d switched to swords for move-practise long ago. But on the odd occasion where my teacher had wanted to see my progress in a genuine, try-your-best-to-hurt-each-other fight, we’d swapped back to wooden staffs. Partly for my own safety and partly due to ‘learning from being hit’. If that was true, I should have been a bloody  _ master  _ long ago. 

 

_ If I fall over and slice off my hand do I get a hook? _

 

Once the stables were done I made for the old spot by the hall, and was met with the sight of the guard training. Uhtred was there too. I grabbed the sword I favoured from the rack, going through a few basic swings to try and dispel my nerves and ignore his presence. If I made an ass of myself it would be all the worse. 

 

Finan knocked the axe out of his current opponent’s hand and claimed victory. They shared a few words, engaged in a warrior-arm-grab-thingy, and parted ways. The Irishman was making a beeline for me, all cocky and sure of himself and I just _knew_ he’d already given himself the win. Two years of training in a skill awards you a certain level of competence, and I liked to think I was doing well. That didn’t mean I was a match for Finan though, who had a whole world more experience than I did. And didn’t he just _know it_? The look on his face was nearing an unbearable level of smug, and all the apprehension fled from my body. Could I beat him? Highly unlikely. Could I give him a surprise or too? _Hell yes._

 

I met him halfway, sword gripped tightly in my right hand. 

 

“Are ya  _ sure _ ya want to do this?” 

 

_ Oh it’s  _ on. 

 

I don’t know what he was expecting, what he thought I’d do. But  _ I  _ knew I wasn’t waiting around. I’d never be a muscle-bound popeye but I  _ could _ be quick. I lunged, executing a clean, sharp movement, and our blades sang as the clashed for the first time. I barely had time to read Finan’s expression, to see if I’d taken him by surprise or not because he’d  _ already  _ turned neatly and was coming for my side. I took a quick step back and his blade sliced through the air where I’d stood a heartbeat before. I swung, he dodged, he swung, I dodged. I went to step around his next attack and realised just in time I’d dodged in the same direction I had previously. I’d moved predictably. I flung my sword up to meet his not a moment too soon, but I wasn’t fast enough to displace his blow. It was all I could do to employ enough force to hold him back.  _ Shit,  _ why was everyone stronger than me? 

 

_ Fight clever. _

 

_ I can do this. _

 

In one fluid motion I ducked under our swords and stepped around him, letting his sword slide over mine and safely behind my back. I took another quick step, spun on my heel and slashed as I turned. I’d moved fast enough that I had that split second advantage. The Irishman jumped to one side, but the tip of my sword still found a home on the outer edge of his arm. 

 

I let out a horrified squeak, sword slipping from my hands the moment I realised what had happened. 

 

“Oh my  _ God _ !” I yelped, closing the distance between us in an instant and grabbing his arm.

 

Which, you know, probably wouldn’t have been the smartest move if he’d been seriously injured. Can you  _ imagine  _ if I pulled his arm off or something? It seemed I hadn’t dealt the life-altering blow I feared, because Finan was  _ laughing.  _ Yeah. Quite uncontrollably actually, which is  _ insane  _ because I’d just hit him with a  _ sword. _

 

“I just  _ got _ you! What the  _ fuck  _ are you laughing at?” I asked incredulously, still pulling at the fabric of his tunic and frantically searching for wounds. 

 

“The only thing ya damaged was my sleeve.” 

 

My hands froze. 

 

_ I definitely didn’t just over-react, overestimate myself  _ and  _ lose my shit all in one moment. Nope. Not. At. All. _

 

Slowly my eyes slid from his arm to his face, taking in how every inch of him screamed amusement. From his barely concealed mirth to the laughter lines around his mouth, to the way the skin under his eyes crinkled as he laughed at me. 

 

“So you’re okay?” 

 

“I am unharmed.  _ You  _ are dead.” 

 

“Oh  _ shit _ .” 

 

“Aye. It is not customary to fling ya sword to the floor durin battle.” 

 

That had me laughing too. I bent to retrieve my weapon and stepped back, still chuckling a little, and raised it before me. 

 

“Again? I promise I won’t throw it away this time.” 

 

I intended to strike first once more but I never got the chance. I moved faster than I ever had before as I threw my own sword up on instinct to meet his, and then we were off. He was moving a faster now too and I realised two things: one, he’d been going on easy on me before; and two, I must’ve done something right, because he wasn’t  _ anymore.  _ I leant around a particularly intense swipe for my head and straightened immediately. If I’d thought dodging and ducking and blocking and attacking and  _ everything  _ was difficult before, then this verged on impossible. How was he so fast?  _ How?  _ I turned to come at him from an angle, our swords met and I used it, pushing in as tight as I could. If this was a movie, this would be the moment where our eyes would lock and there’d be some witty repartee. Instead I pulled a Hild and dealt the sharpest kick I could, as high as I could. I was rewarded by the Irishman stepping back sharply and I tried to press the advantage, but he’d recovered almost instantly. He dealt the hardest strike yet and I swear it rattled my  _ teeth.  _ He’d moved in close and before I could blink something had tugged on my leg and I was  _ down.  _

 

I landed flat on my back, hitting my head on the grass, wind fucking  _ flying  _ from my lungs. I lay still, trying to focus on moving air in and out, nice and slow. I’d been winded before from falling from horseback and I knew to keep calm. It’d probably been about twenty seconds or so when the pressure on my chest began to fade, the lightheaded feeling receding a little, and I opened my eyes. 

 

Finan stood above me, one forearm braced against his sword. He’d won, and yeah he was grinning at me insufferably, but I couldn’t really bring myself to _mind_ all that much. I knew I’d caught him off guard at least once, and that’d been the sum total of my plan going in. 

 

“Way to go, dude,” I managed, still a little lacking in the whole oxygen-in-the-lungs department. My opponent gave me an odd look. “Congratulations,” I corrected myself. 

 

He flashed me a genuine smile then. “Ya did well.” 

 

I beamed like an idiot, feeling a little silly as I lay on the floor impersonating a splattered cow-pat. I sat up slowly, felt better than I did moments ago, so I went the whole way and clambered to my feet. This was a little too ambitious because I rapidly began to tilt like the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Finan grabbed my elbow, successfully saving me from becoming reacquainted with the floor. I wobbled for a moment or two before settling in place, and once I was stable, he released me. His teasing eyes informed me he had some silly comment to make, so I was rather relieved when Sihtric chose that moment to appear out of nowhere like a  _ phantom _ . 

 

“That was a fine display.” 

 

“Well, I have you two, among others, to thank for that.” I said, flushing a little under the praise. 

 

My eyes searched across the men on the field, seeking out Uhtred. Had he seen? What did he think? I found him. For a moment he simply held my gaze and my heart was in my  _ mouth.  _ Then he offered me a nod, a smile, and he moved on. This was it. After  _ two years  _ they were finally taking my desire to be a warrior seriously.  _ Holy shit. _ I felt a mix of pride and relief, and there was a distinct possibility I was going to fall over again. 

  
Now that the fight of the century was over, the guys wanted to spar and I was  _ more _ than happy to sit the next one out. I still felt a little dizzy from being turned into a pancake. Again I settled against the hall to watch, the little spot easily one of my favourites in Coccham. My gaze drifted from the men fighting to the roofs, the walls and beyond. The warm, fuzzy feeling of sentimentality settled in my stomach. I was home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Adeline is finally seen as a warrior! Common Saxon women wouldn’t train to fight- Hild is the exception, not the rule. Of course they respected Adeline as a person long before this, but in terms of actually fighting alongside them, I think it would be a ‘see it to believe it’ kind of thing for them. Clearly she’s still not a match for the Coccham Squad, and I think it would be pretty unrealistic for her to be. She’s had far less time to learn and improve, and has never fought in real combat. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this one! Your comments are honestly wonderful and help keep me super motivated. I'm afraid my next update is going to be in two weeks rather than one, because exams exist and they suck :(
> 
> Until next time loves!


	12. Big Mike

If I thought  _ I  _ was happy to be home, Uhtred put me to shame. Within weeks of our return Gisela announced she was once again pregnant. It seemed they had celebrated their reunion rather, ahem,  _ vigorously.  _

 

There was another epic party, but sadly I wasn’t there to help raise the roof. I’d been staring grumpily at the inside of our  _ own _ little roof. I’d woken up a few days before the feast with a throat like sandpaper and a head made of lead. The illness had hits its peak the morning of the event, when every muscle in my body had decided it would be funny to ache and stiffen up so much I couldn’t get out of bed. I was moody and pissy and not fun to be around. Sihtric had put a huge pitcher of water along with a mug in arms reach, forced me to eat something for breakfast and wrapped me up in so many blankets I felt like the world’s first burrito. Before he left I’d informed him that if I died in the day he had to look after Dorito, and that he could have my most prized possession: my hair tie. He’d just raised an eyebrow and told me to try and sleep. He wasn’t even  _ thankful  _ for my offer.  _ Rude.  _

 

Being sick in the 9th Century is  _ awful  _ by the way _.  _ I’m a whiny little bitch when I’m ill, but for once I’m not exaggerating. There were no painkillers to take, no heating to turn up, and no Netflix days with bars of chocolate the size of your face. I wasn’t even that sick, just afflicted with a stubborn head cold, and I  _ hated  _ it. Of course, the first morning I woke up feeling shitty I’d panicked. Wouldn’t you? The middle ages boast some truly  _ horrific  _ illnesses, with little in the way of medicine. I’d spent  _ hours  _ checking my body for lumps, convinced I’d somehow contracted the plague. When I woke up the next morning with the typical cold symptoms I’d relaxed a little bit, but I’d still been on edge until a few days after the party when I began to feel better. 

 

Once I was back on top form, I learnt that Sihtric met a lady while I was in Wintanceaster. He told me that she accepted money for sex, and was taken aback by how chilled out I was. It seemed he expected me to view her poorly. I didn’t of course, not  _ at all _ . I couldn’t help but feel a tug of discomfort at the thought of her occupation, however. While I didn’t want to assume, it seemed far more likely that her work was born from necessity than choice. Her name was Ealhswith, he’d met her at the tavern and they’d gotten along rather well. He’d ignored the lewd suggestions of our friends to seal the deal that night and had instead spent the next few weeks getting to know her. In the end they  _ had _ slept together, though she’d refused to take payment. 

 

I met her the next time we visited the tavern. She was very pretty, with wavy brown hair, high cheekbones and delicate features. Her smile was tentative but her eyes were firm. Surely Sihtric had made it clear there was nothing going on? Still, I was all too aware of how our living situation was perceived, so I decided to set the record straight. 

 

“Nice to meet you Ealhswith, I’m Adeline. Sihtric is like an annoying, persistent sibling. He’s all yours.” 

 

A little of the intensity dropped from her features, though her tone was still clipped when she responded with a “It is nice to meet you, too.”

 

“Tell me about how you met?” I suggested, wanting that distrust to leave her. “I bet Sihtric made a right tit of himself.” 

 

She openly smiled then, and seemed content to regale me with the tale. That set the mood, and the evening was a relaxed, enjoyable one. Sihtric managed to drink  _ quite  _ the quantity of alcohol, and I began to wonder if it was liquid courage for something. He was muttering in Ealhswith’s ear now, voice low, she was giggling quietly - they were flirting up a  _ storm.  _

 

_ If they come home to boink I’m gonna have a front row seat.  _

 

I wouldn’t stop them of course, who was I to stand in the path of true love? I just didn’t plan on sticking around to  _ witness  _ said love. Hild was sat further along the table our group had claimed, and in light of my alarming realisation I tried to catch her attention

 

“Hild?”

 

The lady in question gave me an odd look (alas, nothing new). “Why do you whisper?” 

 

“I’m trying to be subtle! This is a sensitive topic.” 

 

If I loudly announced that I needed alternate lodgings our sozzled friends would laugh and joke, potentially causing enough embarrassment to put the brakes on tonight. So no shouting. This was an undercover mission. 

 

“Subtlety is  _ not  _ a trait you can claim.” 

 

“You wound me!” 

 

“You will survive, I am sure.” 

 

I turned to meet her eyes, a swirl of blue and grey, giving up on playing it suave. Her eyebrows were raised, her face ruled by that lopsided grin that told you she was taking the piss out of you. 

 

Sighing, I leaned in close so my words wouldn’t be overheard. “Can I sleep on your floor tonight?”

 

I lent back and watched as she looked from me, to the couple who’d progressed to what  _ looked  _ like an attempt to eat each other’s faces, and back to me. “Of course.” 

 

The night began to wind down not long after that, and I dashed home to grab my blanket and pillow before the happy couple decided to bust the door in. I passed them back on route to the tavern. They were wrapped up in each others arms, managing a few steps before someone would tug the other down for a hungry kiss. I had to wonder if they were even going to  _ make it  _ to the house. From what they’d both divulged I gathered they genuinely cared for one another, beyond the physical. Seeing them together brought a grin to my face, and I ducked my head as I passed them and jogged back inside. 

 

Patrons had been slowly filtering out as the night wore on, leaving only a few tables occupied. It was quieter and a little cooler too. Our table had been reduced to Finan and Clapa laughing loudly about something, and Hild awaiting my return. I settled back onto the bench beside the nun, pulling my blanket around my shoulders like a cape. She drained the remains of her drink, and I waved my own empty mug to signal I was set to leave too. As soon as I’d sat down we were back on our feet again. 

 

“Do not drink the night away,” Hild warned the men. She was ever the sensible one, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she spoke. 

 

“It is already mornin, Hild.” Finan informed her sagely. 

 

Clapa raised his drink, slurring what was probably meant to be “I will drink to that.’ What we actually got was ‘ _ I  _ wul dink ta _ shat _ !” A considerable amount of his beverage seemed to have made its way into his moustache. I couldn’t suppress my laugh at the fond exasperation on Hild’s face. 

 

Finan turned to me. “The matter is  _ serious _ . Our nun is labourin under the illusion that the day has not ended.”  

 

I raised an eyebrow, trying to figure out if he was  _ actually  _ that drunk or if he was just playing the fool. I’m sure it won’t surprise you to know either is likely. Leaning forward I snagged his drink and made a pretence of studying it. I turned to my only sober companion and showed it to her, ignoring the protests emanating from the table. 

 

“Huh. Not sure what’s in this Hild, but it’s making Finan act even more stupid than usual.” 

 

The huge Dane laughed, smacking a hand on the wooden tabletop with enough force that it  _ must  _ have hurt. I heard a scraping sound and looked up to see the Irishman himself marching around the table. Endless brown eyes didn’t leave mine as he moved. His gait was too smooth for him to be drunk, and I felt a moment of pride for sussing him out. Then he was closing in, and other thoughts fled my mind as he came to a stop directly before me. He took the mug with firm hands and drained the remains. I watched his throat work, the subtle shift of skin below his beard, before he lowered the tankard. 

 

“It is only mead,” he confirmed, smirking down at me. “Ya need not worry.” 

 

I swallowed. “Maybe try some water instead?” 

 

“Perhaps.”

 

Something about his eyes, alive with humour and richer than ever in the dull lighting, told me he didn’t plan on taking my advice. Hild had somehow swapped Clapa’s drink for the aforementioned H2O, and left him to nurse it with a friendly pat on the shoulder. She came to stand beside me, telling Finan what we all already know: I am wise, and my guidance should always be taken. Well. She told him I was right and he should drink some water, but she was _thinking_ it. We bade the men goodbye, Hild set off for the exit and I followed suit. I had the strangest urge to look over my shoulder as we left. 

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

Other than nearly worrying myself to an early grave with thoughts of the plague, my life carried on much the same as before I left. The only real difference was I spent more than a few nights curled up on Hild’s floor. 

 

I’d finally had a set of sparring clothes made for myself, and had a new pair made for Hild to replace the ones I’d used (ruined). I still trained at every available opportunity. I tended to work with the sword by day, and my bow alone in the evenings where peace was easier to come by. One day a few months after my return to Coccham, the guard were busy, so I opted for my bow during the day. Thyra’s dagger had been the tool of choice to carve a target into the back of our home a few days after I’d got back. There were now three wobbly circles etched into the wood, progressively decreasing in size, marked with scratches and marks thanks to my arrows. How does Sihtric feel about my choice of target you ask?

 

_ What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.  _

 

Practising with a bow is a lot more relaxing than a sword. You have to focus on the target, keep calm and breathe steadily. I’d lost count of how many times I’d emptied my quiver, retrieved the arrows and repeated the process. Edgar had made it clear that I needed repetition to improve my consistency. It wasn’t enough to be able to hit the target, I needed to hit it  _ every  _ time. I released my current arrow part way through the exhale and was met by a rewarding  _ thunk _ . I’d hit the ‘centre’ of my homemade target. Less of an achievement than you would think: there was barely any wind and I’d taken my sweet time aiming. I needed consistency under these easy conditions, and  _ only then _ could I start making things a little harder for myself. 

 

I was about to knock another arrow when I noticed how far the sun had tracked across the sky. I hastily returned the arrows to my quiver, stashed the weapons under my bed and hightailed it to the stables. 

 

I was working on the last stable, belonging to the bay escape artist (the one I’d encountered the day I met Rodor), when I noticed the horse seemed moodier than usual. He’d always been quite a fiery sort, but today he put his ears back whenever I stepped too close. Once I was finished, I left the tools outside and ducked back under the beam into his stable. He was standing in a way that favoured one front leg, and it clearly hurt him to rest his weight on it normally. I approached him carefully, watching his ears and face to try and read him. His ears shot back but he made no move to bite or kick me. I stepped closer and ran a hand across his shoulder, then crouched, smoothing my hand down his leg as I did so. There was no heat or swelling in the leg which ruled out most muscle pulls and strains. I moved onto his hoof, gently tugging at his fetlock and clicking my tongue to encourage him to lift it up. The problem became clear immediately: he had a small stone lodged in his sole.  

 

“That looks painful darling,” I muttered. “Let’s sort it out.”

 

I gripped the stone and with one sharp tug it came loose. The horse snorted and pulled his hoof from my grip. Smiling, I patted his shoulder and uttered soothing platitudes. I was checking over his leg again, to be sure nothing else was amiss, when I heard footsteps behind me. I turned to see Rodor approach. He looked  _ pissed.  _

 

“Are you  _ incapable _ of finishing the tasks asked of you?” 

 

I mean, to an on-looker I guess it looked like I was sitting stroking the leg like a weirdo instead of cleaning the stable. Still. There was no need to be such a dick about it. 

 

“He had a stone in his hoof,” I explained, holding up the guilty party. “I was just double-checking he was okay.” 

 

“I did not realise you were so well-versed in the care of horses.” 

 

“Look man. You clearly have some issues with me, and I’ll be frank, I think you’re a total pillock. We don’t get along and I thought we were doing a fine job of ignoring each other. What changed?” 

 

“I hoped you would remain in Wintanceaster. Your presence is entirely disagreeable,” he sneered. 

 

All cards on the table then?  _ Fine by me _ .

 

“And I hoped you’d removed your _head_ from your _arse._ I shouldn’t have set my sights so highly because, surprise surprise, you’re just as judgemental as before.” 

 

“If I offend you, would you not consider alternative work? Impose your  _ company  _ elsewhere.” 

 

“Not a chance! Are you  _ kidding  _ me? This is how I earn an income and support myself. You want me to give that up because you don’t  _ like  _ me?” 

 

“Do you truly entertain that notion? You still live with that  _ boy.  _ He provides all you need I’m sure.” 

 

“Oh for fuck sake!” I shouted, so frustrated I actually threw my arms in the air like something from a badly acted movie. “We’ve been over this! I’ve already told you that me living with Sihtric is none of your business. Are you stupid or deaf? We  _ both  _ pitch in for running the house you  _ turd _ .” 

 

I’d learnt that most of my insults fell on deaf ears. Turd was the popular choice here, and I noted with smug satisfaction that Rodor’s fists clenched when I said it. 

 

“I do not know from whence you hail, but it must be an abhorrent place to raise it’s women so! You are vulgar and lack principle.” Rodor said, looking at me in that shitty holier-than-thou way I’ve seen no one master quite as well as he. 

 

“Don’t you  _ dare _ ! You don’t  _ get  _ to talk about my home, okay? No.  _ No. _ Fuck this, and  _ fuck you. _ ”

 

I had every intention of leaving. I wasn’t going to stand there and listen to him talk  _ shit  _ about a world he knew nothing of. I was fuming, the anger bubbling beneath my skin - I needed a walk and I needed to cool down. I ducked under the stable’s wooden beam and moved to stalk past Rodor when he lunged for my wrist. 

 

“You will not walk away from me again, girl.”

 

_ Hands so tight they bruised.  _

 

_ Pinning me, trapping me.  _

 

_ There’s no way out and there’s  _ nothing  _ you can do.  _

 

_ You’re powerless. You’re weak.  _

 

I smacked his hand away and wrenched my wrist free in one movement, pinning him with a  _ murderous  _ expression. 

 

“Don’t fucking  _ touch me _ !” 

 

“I am surprised it bothers you so. I thought you were used to having men lay their hands on you?” 

 

I’ve never understood the expression of ‘seeing red’, because how can you see nothing but one colour? I understood it then. I was so  _ angry _ I thought I would choke on it. The feeling was crawling out of my throat, demanding I shout or scream or do _ something.  _

 

So I did. 

 

I punched him with all my might. My fist connected with his nose and I was rewarded with a  _ crunch.  _ Pain spread through my knuckles and shot along the nerves almost instantly. I retracted my hand with a hiss, clutching it tightly to my chest. Rodor took a quick step backwards, bent over, hands covered his nose as he swore under his breath. I was breathing heavily, the fury alive and tingling in my fingertips. I  _ wanted  _ him to stand and swing for me so I had another opportunity to  _ hurt him.  _

 

Sadly, we don’t always get what we want in life. 

 

Nerian must have heard all of the shouting from elsewhere in the stables (the man is a  _ mystery _ . I have no  _ idea  _ what he does from day to day) and arrived to inspect the ruckus. His face was thunderous as he marched over, stopping between the two of us. 

 

“What is this?” 

 

“Your stable-girl felt it prudent to break my  _ nose. _ ” Rodor finally removed his hands to show the blood leaking from one nostril.

 

“Why don’t you step a little closer? I’ll break something else.” 

 

“You shall do no such thing.” The stable-master snapped, pinning me with a  _ look.  _ “Adeline, you will explain yourself.”

 

“He deserved it. And he’s  _ lucky  _ you turned up when you did,” I bit out. 

 

Rodor glared, taking a quick step forwards. “ _ Lucky?  _ Girl I will show you-”

 

“This will stop!” Nerian cut him off incredulously. “Adeline you  _ will _ tell me.  _ Now _ .” 

 

I looked between the two men. Both were angry. Rodor in a I’m-going-to-fucking-smite-you kinda way, and Nerian in a I-can’t-believe-I-have-to-deal-with-this-bullshit kinda way. 

 

“Rodor and I don’t get along. _ Obviously _ . Instead of just ignoring me, he decided to start shit. He was a dick. I hit him. End of story.” 

 

Nerian raised an eyebrow at my detail-deficient tale. I had no intention of telling him any more. That would lead to the moment where things I’d spent _two fucking years_ pushing to the furthest reaches of my mind popped up like a jack-in-the-box. By day that insidious little memory was all but disowned. Yes I still had nightmares, and yes they often cost me my sleep, but in the day time I was supposed to be _okay_ because I could act like it _hadn’t happened._ I was shaking, hovering somewhere between the blind fury I’d felt before and some other emotion that I was _not_ going to address. 

 

The stable master let out a frustrated sigh, looking between his two staff members again. “I shall not bother our Lord with your childish behaviour.  _ This time.  _ Adeline, you will clean  _ all  _ of the tack  in the time between your morning and afternoon work. You will then clean it all  _ again.  _ Rodor, do not antagonise her. Do not think me a fool - I have seen the animosity between you. Another occurrence of this nature will see you  _ both  _ before Lord Uhtred.” 

 

Warning ringing clear in my head, I nodded sharply. We were dismissed after that, Rodor turning and leaving at light speed. Nerian didn’t hang about either. Now I was alone, I gravitated towards Dorito and slumped down by the beam that sectioned off his stable. 

 

I’d be alright. I just needed a moment to shove the memories and the feelings back into their box. Then the box needed to be dropped off of a  _ fucking abyss _ , back into the recesses of my subconscious mind. Because right now it felt alarmingly fresh, and it  _ hurt _ like it had happened yesterday. Most of the light had faded from the sky by the time I stood. 

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

After I’d challenged Finan and shown that I was no longer a defenceless jelly _ ,  _ the guys fought me like they meant it. This was both gratifying and  _ terrifying.  _ Having an axe heading for your face at top speed is  _ not  _ cool. It took a little getting used to. Me and my solitary sword fought against men armed with a sword, an axe, two swords ( _ surely  _ dual-wielding is cheating?) a sword and a  _ shield _ \- every combination you could think of. I was also shown how to fight with a shield, as well as how to form up in a shield wall. 

 

_ If ‘Vikings’ need an extra, I’m their girl.  _

 

I can’t believe I’m saying this, but after a while having people actively trying to hurt you kind of becomes... normal? I also got used to the concept of trying to hurt  _ them,  _ and there were no more mid-fight weapon drops while I blathered like an idiot. They were still a  _ little _ more careful with me than each other, because no matter how I’d improved my skills still didn’t equal anyone in the guard, and it would  _ suck  _ if someone stabbed me somewhere important. 

 

I had to take a reign check on all of that after the punching incident. Cleaning tack felt oddly akin to detention. It took me weeks to scrub all of the tack clean twice without the convenience of modern leather conditioner. The day after my last ‘detention’ I _skipped_ to the training area, nipping into the house on the way to grab something to eat. I was running on fumes after a night characterised by broken snatches of sleep (nightmares are a _bitch_ ), feeling an odd mix of exhausted and absolutely _wired._ I’d demolished the bread by the time I’d arrived by the hall (it’s a skill) and headed straight for the weapons rack. I knew some of the guys had their own swords, but _good_ _grief_ they were expensive to have made. Like a kid who’d forgotten their P.E kit, I was perpetually borrowing one. The one I’d tended towards since my return was gone and I hesitated, trying to figure out which of the remaining swords was closest in weight and length. 

 

“You have been absent of late.” 

 

I turned to smile at Clapa as he approached. “I was on the naughty step. Also, someone took my sword.” 

 

The skyscraper-man approached the selection of weapons, looked them over quickly, and selected a sword. He offered it to me handle first and I took it slowly so I didn’t slice his hand open. Which is  _ entirely  _ too plausible for me. It wasn’t  _ my  _ sword, but it felt similar and I was sure I’d be able to wield it without too much difficulty. 

 

“Thanks man! You’re a real one.” 

 

Uhtred was amongst the men, locked in combat with Finan. Maybe the Lord had found a free hour? Or maybe he just wanted to engage in a little socially acceptable violence? God knows I could relate to that. Perhaps because my mind was already on the subject, I was drawn to Uhtred’s sword (mind out of the gutter). It had a beautiful amber stone inlaid at the handle’s end, and it caught the sun as he moved. 

 

“Uhtred’s sword is incredible,” I muttered, more to myself than anything else. (Seriously. Mind. Gutter.  _ Out _ .)

 

“Serpent-Breath is indeed formidable,” Clapa agreed.

 

“His sword has a name? I thought that was some Hollywood cliche, I didn’t realise people  _ actually  _ did it!” 

 

“The warriors of your land do not name their swords?” 

 

_ Well. One of my uni housemates insisted we refer to his package as ‘big Mike’ but I doubt that’s what you meant.  _

 

“They don’t. Does your axe have a name?” 

 

“It does not.” 

 

“ _ What _ ? Come on I have some great ones! How about throat-cleaver? Or bowel-opener?”

 

“I will not be naming my axe. It is sufficient as it stands.” 

 

I know I’ve been saying mind out of the gutter but mine was currently doing the front crawl through a  _ sewer.  _

 

“My axe amuses you?”

 

I was  _ crying  _ at this point. Don’t judge me. I can’t share memes or zoom in on people’s faces in photos anymore. Innuendos are the only part of the holy trinity of humour still standing. I couldn’t get any words out of my mouth so I just nodded. Clapa couldn’t seem to decide if I’d gone mad or not, watching me with a mix of amusement and confusion, tinged with a little worry for my mental state. After an excess of gasping and laughing I managed to tell Clapa I was fine and that he should continue with his training. He did so, shooting me one last baffled look, and I took my normal seat against the hall. Anyone would need a break after  _ that many _ penis double entendres.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! 
> 
> I've tried to show how Adeline's dealing with the two major issues in her life differently. In terms of losing her home, she talked with Thyra about that from the outset. She's been working through it in her head, and she had a painful but necessary conversation with Hild about it. On the other hand, she's denied anything ever happened at Dunholm. She's never spoke of it and she's repressed the memories to the point where she almost believes it herself. All that repression and bottling up is so unhealthy of course, and isn't really a good way to handle things. This means she gets nightmares, and if anyone reminds her and forces her to acknowledge it, she kind of loses her shit. This can't go on forever of course. Eventually she'd going to have to deal with it, and she will. It'll just take a bit of a push. But that's for the future. 
> 
> I'm sorry this is a day late! I have mountains of deadlines and exams because why would lecturers spread them out? It's obviously wayyyy more fun to have everything all at once at the end of the year. For that reason it's going to be two weeks until the next update as well. I'm so sorry :( 
> 
> Until next time loves.


	13. The Ritual Summoning of Samuel L Jackson

I’d been back at Coccham for about five months when the guard was called to meet with Uhtred one afternoon. This wasn’t uncommon, though it was the first time I’d been asked to attend. 

 

The topic today was the new burh Uhtred had assisted Alfred with during our time in the capitol. On Alfred’s request, Uhtred had visited Balbury with a selection of the guard a few months ago. It had  _ not  _ gone well. Balbury’s Lord, Elmer, was a loyal and deeply religious man who’d made his distaste towards Uhtred no secret in Wintanceaster. He hadn’t taken to a personal visit, nor Uhtred’s (less than constructive) criticism. Now a further trip was in order to determine whether any of the changes Uhtred had suggested had been implemented. Our Lord was too busy to return again in person, and the task was too important to rely on a messenger. So he decided to send a small portion of the household guard, led by his most trusted man, Finan. What’s really surprising is that he asked me to go with them. I bet I looked like one of those bobble-heads you put on the dash of your car, beaming and rapidly nodding my head. 

 

We left first thing the next morning. The plan was to make camp that night and arrive around lunch time the day after. I was once again making the journey with my number one travelling companion, Dorito. I hadn’t ridden him since leaving Wintanceaster and I was loving almost every moment. Almost, because I’d forgotten how he’d toss his head and fidget unless I rode him at the front, where he wasn’t penned in by the other horses. As a woman of exceptional patience I’d lasted maybe half an hour before I’d clicked my tongue and trotted him forwards to ride on Finan’s right. 

 

I could hardly blame the horse, though. The scenery was spectacular and demanded to be seen from the best possible vantage point. Our route lead us over vast, open grassland.  The modern agriculture practises that divided the land into fields and hedges were nowhere in sight - the land was raw, harsh beauty. The grass was long, tangled and unchecked, swaying in the wind. And the wind? It  _ raced  _ across the ground, dancing at the horses’ hooves and continuing it’s journey with no infrastructure in sight to halt it. Hills rolled, a stream gurgled, and for a while it felt like we’d fallen off the edge of the known world. That we’d entered an untamed wilderness, a place not meant for the eyes of men. 

 

As the afternoon stretched on, we started to see small pockets of trees dotted through the landscape. Far in the distance lay a huge wood, likely the chosen site for making camp that evening. Uhtred’s second in command was currently discussing something about the meeting with Rypere - they were the ones with the responsibility here. 

 

I didn’t want to interrupt them, so I was busying myself attempting to plait something into Dorito’s mane. After a few minutes of sifting the course, auburn locks through my fingers, I decided on a running plait. It wasn’t as elaborate as the fantastic Dorito deserved. Sadly, until I could steal whatever Sihtric used, style choices were limited to whatever the hairband in my own hair would hold. I tucked the end of my reins under one knee, stood up in my stirrups and leant forwards. We were only walking, so it was easy enough to balance like that. Starting behind his ears, I split the hair into pieces and carefully began to weave them together, picking up more as I moved down the length of his neck. I was halfway there when I heard Rypere’s curious voice asking what I was doing. I explained my plan to produce the world’s best equine artwork, though he didn’t look particularly convinced. 

 

“You just watch! This’ll be my magnum opus.” 

 

“This time I am certain. That is  _ not  _ english.” Finan spoke up.

 

His words sang with deja vu, taking me to a dark night around a fire, years ago in a fortress in the North. It was a peculiar memory, a cocktail of emotions that seemed at odds with each other, and I could never quite narrow it down to one feeling. I remembered the way the Irishman had doubted my use of my mother tongue that night. It was also easy to recall how hard it had felt to laugh. It had felt otherworldly, yet known, like a memory that wasn’t quite real. A dream. The thing is I  _ had _ laughed. I’d laughed when Finan, a total stranger at the time, teased me and pulled that seemingly impossible reaction from my lungs. He’d been able to effortlessly bring a smile to my face from our very first conversation, and just thinking about that, surprise surprise, had me smiling softly. 

 

There was also the  _ slightest  _ chance that I’d caused a paradox with a handshake, but I’m not touching that with a barge pole. 

 

Regarding what he’d actually said, well, he was right. ‘Magnum opus’ is a latin phrase my high school art teacher would say, thinking it made her sound cultured. The most cultured that women got was 3 for £10 wine. She was a terror, she told me my sunflower looked like a dinner plate and I hold a grudge, okay? Anyway. 

 

“It means masterpiece, and  _ clearly _ , this is fine art.” I said at last, securing the end with my hair tie. 

 

Rypere made a non-committal noise. While less than encouraging, it was better than outright mocking. But then, Rypere was always a little more reserved, so there’s a good chance he was just mocking it in his head instead. 

 

“I think ya may lack skill in this area.” Finan leant over, locating a loose piece with embarrassing ease. I grabbed his hand before he could do any damage.

 

“Okay, this is a one off!” I defended. “This guys seems to have twice as much mane as a normal horse, of course it’s messy!” 

 

“I hear nought but excuses.”

 

Our horses were side by side but we were closer than that proximity afforded us, his body still angled towards me. His tone was light as he teased, and the corner of my mouth quirked, an easy grin forming. 

 

“It’s not an excuse! Let me do your horse’s mane and I’ll prove it. Just think - one of you at least will look fit for grander company.” 

 

_Suggesting he doesn’t look the part, for literally any situation, has to be some_ _sort of blasphemy._

 

The Irishman’s indignant snort drew a laugh from me, and he used his free hand to push my shoulder. “I do not believe ya.” 

 

I raised my chin, reading and meeting the challenge in his eyes. I dropped his hand so I could work the tie free from Dorito’s mane, barely sparing a moment to mourn the plait as it unravelled itself. I knocked Finan’s shoulder with mine, expecting him to straighten up so I could start on his horses’ mane. Instead he leant closer and blocked my reach. I gave his shoulder another little push. 

 

“Move!” Laughter shook my chest. “I swear, you're gonna eat your words.” 

 

“I did not realise I needed to  _ eat  _ anythin.”

 

My breath caught in my throat for a moment as I exhaled. The comment was innocuous, from most people I would have read it as a simple misunderstanding of the modern phrase. His voice was innocent, pitched with just the right amount of confusion. His smirk, not so much, and his eyes weren’t even making an  _ effort  _ to pretend. The hazy sunlight brought out lighter, almost amber flecks in the brown depths. Were the flecks  _ dancing _ ? I blinked once, twice, wondering why I was suddenly waxing lyrical about  _ eyes _ . Had I been staring too long? Probably. Definitely. Crap. 

 

_ He’s messing with you. Stop gaping like a fish and use your words.  _

 

“Now you’re deflecting. Scared I’m gonna be right?” 

 

Finan finally shifted back, pulling out of my space. He hadn’t even been that close in the first place, leaving me trying to figure out why our proximity suddenly  _ mattered  _ so much. The man in question motioned towards his bay gelding, looking rather entertained. 

 

“What are ya waitin on?”

 

_ My brain to make sense of what the fuck is going on.  _

 

I nudged Dorito softly, prompting him to walk a little faster, until my body was level with the bay’s neck, then slipped the reins beneath a knee again. I twisted to face Finan’s horse, and ran my fingers through the hair to loosen any knots. I worked slowly, methodically, taking far more care (sorry Dorito) now my pride was on the line. It was still a simple running plait, but through an almost cramp-inducing grip, I kept this one tighter. 

 

Mother Nature is an unpredictable force. Despite my earlier admiration of her beauty, she chose that moment to send a gust of wind in my direction. It wasn’t strong enough to compromise my balance, but it did fling my loose hair forward and into my face. There was no  _ way  _ I was going to drop my hold on the bay’s mane to move it-

 

I didn’t need to. A steady hand scooped up my wayward curtain of hair and tossed it back over my shoulder. I mumbled a thank you, straight back to the plait now it wasn’t obscured. I didn’t trust myself to meet Finan’s eyes without saying, or doing, something, well… I don’t really know _what_ I was so worried about. Just that I was _worried._ I knew the safest course of action was to keep my focus away from the man at my side. 

 

By the time I’d finished - and it had been a while, because damn it I had a point to prove - whatever aura had settled had drifted away. Which was  _ more _ than okay with me. 

 

I sat up and indicated my work with a flourish, turning to the Irishman for his verdict. . 

 

“It is better than the first,” he conceded. I beamed. “Though that is hardly a feat.”

 

“I mean, if you don’t like it…” I trailed off, moving to loosen the band and unwind the plait. 

 

In a roll reversal, this time my hand was the one pinned to halt its movement. I tracked the hand doing the pinning, up the arm it belonged too and settled on the owners face. I let my eyes flick from hand to face and back again, wordlessly making my question clear. 

 

“Leave it in.” 

 

Isn’t there something so satisfying about proving someone wrong? Even over something trivial? I nodded, pushing my tongue against the back of my teeth, trying not to look too smug. 

 

“Sure.”

The wood I’d seen on the horizon did turn out to be our camping destination that evening. As the only woman in the group I had a tent to myself that night. I didn’t sleep well, which is no surprise by now I’m sure. It was like Wintanceaster all over again. I couldn’t settle, couldn’t let the tension ebb from my limbs. How could I? Alone in that tent, only a thin scrap of material separating me from the outside world. I guess I passed out through exhaustion at some point, because the sounds of life outside had me blinking blearily. I couldn’t have gotten more than an hour: my eyes were sore, eyelids heavy, and I felt gross.  _ Fantastic.  _

 

Breakfast was left-overs from the night before, and I sat glaring at the offending food in my lap. The scent was making me feel nauseous, so I handed my plate to Rypere and left to prepare the horses. I came to Finan’s bay last, and regretfully pulled the hair tie from his mane. As his spokespeople, we reflected Uhtred - I could hardly turn up with windswept hair that made me look like I’d been electrocuted. 

 

The morning passed uneventfully, and we’d arrived by mid-afternoon.

 

We were met by a man with a rugged toughness that his well made clothing couldn’t hide. He wore his hair a little longer than the norm, and kept a beard of the same dark brown. He was the head of Elmer's household guard, and he introduced himself as Alhwald. Our horses were taken to the stables, and we were escorted by another man to the inn where we were to stay for the night (yay sleepover!). Finan and Rypere were invited to take their evening meal with Lord Elmer while myself and the rest of Uhtred’s guard were to eat at the inn. I hoped to get in a catnap before then - I was still too tired to be excited by the thought of food, and that is a  _ crime.  _ Once my back hit the mattress, however, the deep fatigue that had bothered me all day seemed to ease up. I tossed and turned a little, before eventually giving up. 

 

I ended up on a meandering walk through the village, taking it in in the fading light of day. We’d been treated to a cloudless sky today, and so the sunset was beautiful, reds and oranges doing battle with the oncoming night. My stroll lead me down tight little alleys, along wide paths, to the far edge of the settlement and back again. I passed what looked like the stables, and decided to drop in on our four-legged friends before heading back to the inn. They were either snoozing, munching on their food, or in an impressive feat of laziness, eating while lying down. The only member in the last category was Dorito, and I felt a swell of pride for him. 

 

I left when the last of the light had faded from the sky. Without artificial light, it was pretty much pitch black within the stables. Call me crazy, but stumbling blind into a manure pile wasn’t my idea of a good time. 

 

I was heading back towards the inn when I ran into Alhwald. And I don’t mean that figuratively. As I said, it was seriously dark out and the dude’s built like a wall. I think my light-deprived eyes actually  _ saw  _ him as one.  _ Imagine _ my shock when the wall moved and we collided. 

 

“Mother  _ fucker _ .” I cursed under my breath, pulling myself to my feet. 

 

_ Samuel L Jackson appears, as if ritually summoned.  _

 

Alhwald hadn’t gone down. Which, you know, is about fair. No one else should pay for my inability to distinguish between a person and an inanimate object. 

 

“You are not with Lord Uhtred’s men.” 

 

The observation was cool - his stoic demeanour from earlier appeared to be his default. Neither his expression nor tone gave away any emotion. No surprise, exasperation, amusement, annoyance.  _ Nothing.  _ Dude should play poker. 

 

“I wanted to take a walk before dinner. Where are you off to?” 

 

“I am to the hall, to join Lord Elmer and Lord Uhtred’s men.”

 

Tonight was a pretty big deal - Elmer and Uhtred were allies under Alfred, and it would benefit us all if we could find common ground between our camps. We could only hope Elmer would be less of a prejudiced dick, and that Finan and Rypere would be less abrasive than Uhtred. 

 

I paused, collecting my words. Balbury’s Lord was a prideful man who clearly didn’t take advice well. Perhaps he would be more receptive if it came from a source he trusted? That would mean convincing Alhwald. While I wasn’t confident I could achieve that, I could certainly try. Relations were already strained, what was there to lose?

 

“I know it’s not my place to talk about this, but there are some things you should consider this evening. Alfred is God's’ King, and Uhtred is Alfred’s sworn Lord. Uhtred may be pagan but Alfred entrusted this task to  _ him  _ and to  _ his  _ men. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that our  _ King  _ trusts Uhtred, and I think that should be enough. He’s stubborn and quick to speak  _ I know,  _ but the words we bare, his words, it’s good advice. He knows what he’s talking about. All we want is to strengthen the lands of our King against the Northmen. Isn’t that what you want, too?” 

 

_ ‘Operation: make friends’ is a go.  _

 

Elmer’s right hand man was silent for a moment, before: “You are loyal.” 

 

That wasn’t the reply I was expecting. I waited for him to acknowledge anything I’d said, refute my points so I could further try and convince him. He seemed to be waiting for me to speak, too. 

 

“Uh, thank you.” I eventually said, feeling humbled and more than a little awkward. “I owe Uhtred a lot. He’s a good man, the kind who inspires loyalty. Just, please, listen to what Finan and Rypere have to say?” 

 

I got the slightest tilt of the head, which didn’t give me any information beyond the fact that he’d head what I’d said. 

 

_ Time to go for the jugular.  _

 

“You  _ know  _ the threat posed from the Northmen, Alhwald. We could be called to war by our King any day. Uhtred knows how to fight them and  _ that  _ is why Alfred asked for  _ his  _ help forming Balbury. We all want the same thing!” 

 

_ That  _ earned me an unreadable expression. I was still getting skeptical vibes, and when presented with blank-slab-face I had nothing to go on. Movement over Alhwald’s shoulder caught my eye. Finan and Rypere were heading our way, heads bowed in conversation. They were both so focused, for a moment I thought they’d keep walking and plow right into us. Rypere looked up though, so the Balbury man escaped his second collision of the evening. 

 

The duo approached us with matching curious looks, coming to a stop at our side. The guys exchanged gruff pleasantries, each giving off I’m-being-forced-to-be-civil-and-I-aint-diggin-it vibes. I shuffled on the spot, biting my tongue against the ‘this is awkward’ comment that was dying to escape. 

 

“I shall take my leave of you. I am expected in the hall,” Alhwald announced. 

 

He nodded in my direction _ ,  _ turned on one heel and walked away. I stared after him for a moment, trying to decipher that nod. Was it code? Did this mean some of what I’d said had stuck? Or was it simply manners? I second my own opinion that the dude should play poker, because  _ bloody hell  _ he was hard to read. 

 

“We too are expected,” Rypere prompted, seeing Finan and I were in worlds of our own. 

 

There was an air of distraction about the Irishman - his eyes had flickered to follow Alhwald’s retreat more than once. There was only one thing on anyone’s mind this evening. 

 

“Of course. Planning on throwing any insults?” I asked, keeping my tone light in the hopes of alleviating some of the tension around us.    


 

“I certainly hope so.” 

 

Something I admired about Finan was the way he could laugh and raise people’s spirits, without forgetting the weight of a matter. For all his funny remarks, he was far from a fool. 

 

“Wonderful. I’m gonna get some dinner with the men,” I pointed back towards the inn, “before we’re forcibly removed.” 

 

Finan looked to the cosy little building, the raucous audible from where we stood. Candlelight shone from the windows, illuminating a few feet beyond the walls but no farther. 

 

“We shall join ya after,” he paused, then turned back to me with a lopsided grin. “ _ If _ we still have the Lord’s the favour.” 

 

Our trio parted ways after that. Upon returning to the inn, I found the Coccham guard buried in a heavenly smelling stew. Sadly it didn’t taste as good as it smelt, but after skipping out on breakfast and lunch I devoured mine regardless. After dinner came the drinking. I sat nursing my ale quietly, feeling too drained to contribute much to the conversation. It was sods law - now I wanted to wait up to hear from Finan and Rypere, I felt so tired I could have passed out on the table. The last thing I remember before doing exactly that, was one of our men, Osred, trying to convince us that at that very moment, Finan held Lord Elmer at sword-point. 

 

I jolted awake, cheek against the sticky table. I blinked stupidly for a minute, watching the group laugh with a blank expression. My brain was soup, thick and sluggish, so I mumbled a goodbye and tripped my way upstairs. A scratchy bed was calling my name, and I was going to answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't mince words - this chapter just about killed me. I've re-written it at least 5 (?) times, and every time I realised it either wasn't working, or the things I was writing would work better in future chapters. Combine that with finishing my many exams, which are finally over!, and a few not-fun developments at home and this ended up taking a month. I am so sorry! I shall try my hardest not to leave you fantastic people waiting for that long again.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this very late update. As always, let me know what you think. Feel free to give me a kick up the arse if I make you all wait this long again!
> 
> Until next time loves!


	14. Are The Pants Self Aware?

We left early the next day. I was gutted I hadn’t been with it enough to wait up and hear about the meeting, but as I didn’t feel like a walking zombie today, it was a trade I’d begrudgingly take. I heard about it from Osred during the journey anyway. Dorito would periodically snatch at the bit like the little tyrant he is, but I was too enthralled in the tale to notice. And that isn’t sarcasm. Holy _shit_ , what I’d have given to have been a fly on Elmer’s wall. That joke Osred made last night, about Finan holding Elmer at sword point? Well. That’s exactly what happened. 

 

It seems Lord Elmer was even less amicable this time than previously. He’d been in the middle of a lengthy speech, claiming how his guard were ‘superior to any threat’, that he didn’t need advice from Uhtred regarding them, or any other part of Balbury. Finan had chosen to demonstrate how this wasn’t the case. Using a visual aid. Apparently the Irishman had moved so quickly he could have killed the Lord if he’d had malicious intent. Naturally, all hell had broken loose after that. The guard had drawn there swords and there’d been lots of shouting back and forth. Eventually Rypere and Finan managed to convince the other men that they’d been proving a point and didn’t mean to harm Elmer. Alhwald, who’d said little before now, had actually  _ supported  _ them. Elmer conceded that perhaps there  _ was  _ merit in listening to outside input. 

 

I’d sat listening with wide eyes, torn between shock and laughter. Osred was a master storyteller, intoning his voice and gesticulating to emphasise his points. He had two young boys back in Coccham, so I guess he’d had many nights of bedtime stories to hone his craft. 

 

It began to rain a little before lunch, and the weather worsened as the day wore on. By mid-afternoon the sky had turned a moody grey and the rain verged on torrential. My sopping ponytail was plastered to the back of my neck, and I’d given up wiping away the constant stream of raindrops dripping from my hairline. The collective mood had plummeted and even the cheerful Osred was quiet. I was watching the horizon, feeling every part an extra in an angsty music video. The rain did let up in the end, but the damage had already been done - every fibre of our clothing was soaked. 

 

We made camp not long after, settling in the same wood as we had on the outbound leg. I moved quickly and efficiently as I untacked the horses. I was cold and uncomfortable, my clothes were clinging and chaffing and honestly it  _ sucked _ , so I was eager to change. Well aware of my ability to create a disaster from nothing, I’d stuffed Hild’s battered old clothes in my saddlebag, just in case. 

 

So once my duties were complete, I slipped into the woods in search of a big tree. Not something you’d expect to be difficult, right? A tree? In a  _ wood _ ? But after circling camp, I hadn’t come across anything with a trunk wider than my arm. I found a suitable tree a ten minute walk due north (I’m kidding, I have no bloody clue which direction it was in) of our clearing. I stripped out of my damp clothes, trying to ignore the damp sheen they left on my skin. I opted to forgo my miserable-looking sports bra -3 years in the 9th Century had not been kind to it - and chose itchy clothes over sleeping with damp boobs. I’d have been in my second set as quickly as I divested myself of the first, if I hadn’t gotten distracted. A leafy green plant, growing in a light patch at the base of the trunk, caught my eye. It was so ordinary looking, but it filled me with deja vu as overwhelming as it was confusing. My analysis of the plant  was rudely interrupted by laughter.  _ Loud _ laughter. Laughter likely in close proximity. I was clad in the unicorn underwear, and nothing  _ but  _ the underwear.

 

_ Are the pants self-aware? Because they seem to have an agenda: turn me into a stripper.  _

 

I recalled then I hadn’t warned anyone about my, urm, plans. It’s not like I could’ve  _ announced it  _ to the group: ‘hey guys, I’m off to go get naked behind a tree’. So whoever was blundering around out there… they were  _ oblivious  _ to the horror looming on our collective horizons. _ Good God.  _

 

“Stop!” 

 

One arm was pressed tight across my chest, the other waving around in front of me as if that would achieve  _ anything.  _ Good - the laughter stopped. Bad - it was replaced with confused voices and the sound of feet on leaves. I looked about me frantically, trying to figure out from which direction my imminent doom approached. Oh  _ hell _ , was the leaf-crunching getting louder? 

 

I  _ swear  _ on  _ everything  _ something moved in my peripheral. I freaked and threw myself to the ground. I sort of caught myself, but mainly just flattened the girls into some soggy moss. And it bloody  _ hurt _ , enough to pull some weird, strangled sound from my throat. 

 

“Adeline, is that you? Are you well?” 

 

The call emerged from the left, my head snapping that way fast enough to risk whiplash. I recognised the tone as someone from the guard, though I couldn’t put a name to it. 

 

“I’m fine!” I choked out, unable to project my voice well from my current position. “Please don’t come any further!” 

 

“You do not sound well. We heard your cry, do you require assistance?” 

 

How the flying _ fuck  _ does this  _ shit  _ always happen to me? I spotted a dense area of shrub to my right, mercifully in the opposing direction to the voice. I began to commando crawl towards it, shouting as I did so. “I’m. Fine. Please. Stay. Fucking. Still.” Each pause was punctuated with a crawl movement, my breathing choppy. I didn’t want to chance standing in case that was the very moment the owner of the mysterious voice revealed themselves. 

 

I made it to the bush, kicked myself semi-upright with bare feet and dived in. What felt like a few million thorns scratched my skin. I cursed liberally and shuffled backwards, trying to pull a  _ Homer Simpson  _ and straight up disappear. Barely a moment later, Godwine and Iden of the guard appeared, looking around in concern. 

 

“I’m in a bush. Please don’t ask me  _ why. _ I’m not hurt.  _ Please  _ if there’s anything left in this world that isn’t actively working against me, would you just  _ go _ ?” 

 

The leaves weren’t so dense as to totally block my view, and I saw both men’s concern morph into heavy frowns as they noticed two piles of clothing by the big tree. Oh shit. They  _ knew _ . In a horrifying moment of clarity, brambles lodged in unmentionable locations and boobs coated in mud, it occured to me that I could have simply donned the second outfit. Instead, my panicked brain had opted for ‘slither along the floor, but slowly, jerkily, like a mortally wounded snake’. 

 

Iden had a few rabbits in hand, likely from the snares laid on the outward journey. He shifted their weight to his other hand and shared a look with Godwine. Public nudity is hardly conventional behaviour in the 21st Century, but in the 9th? I couldn’t even  _ imagine  _ how bad this looked. The unwilling witnesses to my debacle appeared torn between disgust at my crass behaviour, and a morbid sense of duty to ensure I wasn’t dying or something. 

 

I snapped off a large piece of branch that had been digging into my ribs, stuck my arm out into the open and lobbed it at Iden’s head. It was nothing personal - he was standing closer. 

 

“I’m bloody honoured you felt the need to check I’m alright, but will you both just  _ piss off _ ?” 

 

That did the trick; they turned and left without a word. 

 

I extracted myself from my leafy hideout, dressed at light speed and scooped up my damp clothes. I spared a moment to glare at the annoyingly familiar plant, the cause of this latest calamity, before heading back. It turns out mortification did wonders for sharpening my sense of direction, as I didn’t have much trouble finding my way. 

 

A fire crackled in the centre of the clearing. It was penned in by a few logs someone had dragged over, so we could sit off the sodden grass. My hair was still wet, and anyone who says they don’t enjoy warming their hands by a campfire has no soul, so that was my destination. Godwine and Iden sat to one side skinning their catches, the rest of the guard dotted around save Finan and Osred. I chose a seat next to Rypere. I made awkward eye contact with Iden more than once. Every once in a while I’d get that prickly, cold sensation straight down my spine. I’d look up and stare right back with gritted teeth, waiting for him to avert his eyes. 

 

Finan and Osred returned to us in time to eat. The food was good, but I couldn’t enjoy it when I was fighting the urge to pitch it at someone’s  _ face.  _

 

Since beginning this tale, I’ve said little about the members of the guard. I would call a few friends in the way a work colleague is your friend by circumstance. I really liked quiet, accepting Rypere and Osred, a man I doubt has ever been in an argument. As for the other men, I’d hardly even call us acquaintances. They were good men, loyal to Uhtred, and none had ever caused me problems the way Rodor had. But my modern ways clashed with what they expected a woman to be, to say, to do. We weren’t compatible, and I had no intention of changing who I was. Tonight’s incident would hardly help, but it wasn’t like I’d _ planned  _ to flash them. As ever, it was all just a disastrous, accidental series of events.

 

I didn’t hang around after dinner. I was still a bit behind on my sleep, so I managed to drift off without as much difficulty as I had on the outbound journey. It didn’t last of course. At some unspecified time I woke with a start, palms clammy and chest heaving. I pulled my knees up to my chest and held on tight, waiting for the nightmare to pull it’s fangs from my heart. This one had left a poison in its wake. I could  _ smell  _ his breath on my-

 

No.  _ No.  _

 

I knew someone would be keeping watch outside, and right now I would happily take awkward silence over isolation. I shuffled out of my tent and saw the clearing was still basked in a faint glow, cast by the last vestiges of our campfire. Finan was perched on the biggest log, and though his back was to me I could see the sword balanced across his lap. Relief flooded my system, washing away some of the rotten taste in my mouth. 

 

I coughed quietly as I approached to let him know I was there, you know, so he didn’t freak out and  _ stab me.  _ We’ve established I’m not a quiet person, so it probably wasn’t necessary, but better safe than skewered. I sat next to him, trying to get comfortable on a log than seemed more splinter than wood. The Irishman watched me with a disapproving look. It wasn’t one I saw on him often, and I found I wasn’t too keen on it. 

 

“It is the middle of the  _ night _ . Why are ya not sleepin?” 

 

The truth? Not a chance. A lie? Not smart enough to think of something quickly. 

 

“Why aren’t you?”   
  


_ Deflection: the finest weapon in my arsenal.  _

 

“To keep a watch, it is prudent to be awake.”  

 

_ Foul breath flooding my senses _

 

_ Not enough to distract from- _

 

“Then I’ll help you!” I said quickly, voice pitchy.  _ More talking, less thinking.  _ “What if you run into a mythical beast, huh? I’m prepared, I’ve seen  _ How To Train Your Dragon. _ ” 

 

Finan was quiet for a beat. I bit my lip, trying not to squirm under his scrutiny. I pulled sleep-mussed hair over one shoulder and began to twist the strands around my fingers. Over under, over, under, slip it off the pinky and repeat. It would have been easier if my hands weren’t shaking. 

 

“A dragon is unlikely. What is your experience with ogres?”

 

“Inferior to dragons I’m afraid. My mum used to tell me a great bedtime story about one, though.” 

 

“Ya speak so sparin’ly of home, I am surprised to hear ya mention your mother. Would ya tell me about her?” 

 

“Really?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise. 

 

“Aye, I am curious.” 

 

It was my turn to scrutinise. I doubted Finan was all that interested in the life of Ruth Brown. He’d indulged my silly dragon comment, and now questioning me about my mother? He was trying to keep me talking, likely picking up on the blatant, anxious habitats I just couldn’t quit. 

 

“My mum looked a lot like me. Dad always said I got her eyes, but I’m not so sure. Hers would light up whenever she spoke about something she loved. She’d have this, this  _ glow  _ about her. Like a star. Mum loved cooking but  _ hated  _ baking. She made the most incredible chicken pies, totally from scratch. But she couldn’t resist lacing everything with sage, so the sweet things never turned out well. She was always so calm, I don’t remember her getting angry much. Which is a miracle, really, because my sister Colette and I were  _ very  _ annoying children. She looked more like Dad, and we  _ both  _ got more of his personality than Mum’s. Looking back, I don’t know how she handled the three of us.”  

 

I smiled fondly, recalling the time we put green hair dye in dad’s shampoo when his curfew meant we missed some shitty high-school party. Colette had been a year younger than me, my wonderful, infuriating baby sister, and engaged to her high school sweetheart. We’d laughed together over how American rom-com that was, but Olivia and Colette were so well suited it somehow made sense, even in the real world, even if they were only 22.

 

“With the patience and devotion of a parent, I’d wager.” Finan paused. He looked conflicted, brows lowered over his dark, dark eyes. When he continued, his voice was cautious. “Ya speak as though you’ll never see your family again.” 

 

There was no need for worry, though. I’d long since came to terms with my lot. I was also reminded then that everyone here believed I was an amnesiac, that I was stranded because I didn’t remember the way home. While that wasn’t exactly the case, the sentiment was the same. 

 

“I won’t. There’s no way home.” 

 

There was understanding in Finan’s eyes. It was difficult to pin his expression down, to simplify it with a vague descriptor. It was a living thing, memories and emotions dancing across a handsome face. The best I can do is call it resigned acceptance, like reminiscing over an old hurt.

 

“Something’s wrong.”

 

The silence stretched after my soft words, the tension of the moment holding us like a vice. 

 

“Ya reminded me of somethin, is all. Suffice to say I shall not see Ireland again.” Finan replied at last. 

 

“I’m so sorry, Finan. I know how hard that is.” 

 

My heart ached for him, all too intimate with that pain. I reached out on instinct, and realising what I’d done mid-movement, my hand came to a jerky stop midair. I settled for resting it on the sword, a neutral ground I hoped he wouldn’t see as too invasive

 

“It was leavin that led me to Uhtred, and to Coccham, but... I would not wish the path on any man.”  

 

“The ship,” I whispered needlessly.

 

Finan nodded once, gaze fixed on the dying embers of the fire. “For a long time, it felt as though I would spend the rest of my life at sea.” 

 

I knew the Irishman had met Uhtred aboard a slave ship, but this was the first time we’d spoken about it. It wasn’t something that tended to come up in conversation. Some aspects of the medieval world had been easy to adapt to. Some, dare I say it, were even improvements on the world I’d left behind. But the slave trade as a legal, booming business was something I would never get used to. It’s horrors were alive and thriving, and the man to my side had experienced them all. I couldn’t tear my eyes from the figure he cut: hands clasped over his sword, jaw tight, expression a thousand miles away. 

 

“That didn’t happen, though.” My voice was so small in the smothering darkness, the light from the fire now feeling pointless against the night. 

 

“No it didn’t. We were freed, and I ran that bastard Sverri through.” 

 

“ _ Good _ .” 

 

I felt no remorse for the dead slaver. If he were here, I would kill him myself. My hands clenched to fists. But instead of the familiar feel of hair beneath my fingers, something bit into my right palm. I released the sword with a quiet ‘ _ fuck’ _ , cursing my own stupidity. I went to straighten my fingers and winced, sharp pain stopping me in my tracks. I raised my hand, turning it to see blood trickling down my arm, raising tiny hairs in its wake. 

 

Finan had set the sword down by our feet and produced a water skin. “For your hand, will ya show me?”

 

I’d already derailed the conversation, and while it hurt, it didn’t feel serious. So that would be a no. 

 

I shook my head. “It’s alright. It’s not that deep.”

 

He sighed, giving my closed hand a pointed look. “Ya don’t know how deep it is. Let me look.” 

 

I felt like a clumsy child, more and more embarrassed by the second. There was also that nagging little voice in the back of my head, muttering about infections and gangrene and rotting hands and  _ okay  _ that’s enough. 

 

Shuffling across the log until we were side by side, I reluctantly offered up my hand. Finan took it in one of his, using the other to ease my fingers back. It hurt just as much as when I’d tried to do it myself. He poured a little water to clear the smeared blood, and my fingers twitched at the smarting. The damage was a long slice through the fate line of my palm, as well as shallow little slashes that lined up on the inside of my fingers. One cut for either side of the blade.   

 

The warrior ran careful fingers along the edge of the big cut and I looked on, expecting him to pull it back and reveal bone like something from a horror film. My stomach was thankful that nothing quite so gruesome occurred. I heard a rip, and I looked away from the wound to see him tear a small strip of fabric from his tunic. He began to wrap my hand and the extra pressure had it stinging like a  _ bitch _ . It hurt enough that I found my attention drifting to more pleasant places. Like the feeling of fingers across skin as he worked, rough in texture and soft in intent. 

 

“It is not so deep it will need to be stitched,” he assured. “But it will scar.” 

 

Distantly I felt relieved that I wouldn’t be living my life  _ sans hand _ . I looked up to thank him but the phrase died on my tongue. I met his gaze, steady and serious. Our eyes had met over a shared joke too many times to count. This shouldn’t have been any different - it  _ wasn’t  _ any different. But it felt different to me and I was anything  _ but  _ steady. Something in my chest tugged - insisting I pay attention. I bit my lip, trying to summon the words I needed. 

 

“Okay. Th-thanks,” I managed. I took a breath before addressing him again. “Are you alright?” 

 

“I did not grapple with a sword,” he quipped. Some of the familiar light had returned to his features. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips; the frown line in his forehead had receded. 

 

As much as that little display of happiness lightened me, too, I had to be sure. We’d been discussing some heavy stuff before my clumsiness had struck, and there was more I’d wanted to say. He was so much  _ more  _ than the evil of other men. 

 

“I just… argh this is going to sound  _ stupid  _ but… you’re here. Bad memories can be so, so  _ strong _ that it feels like you never left whatever awful place gave you them. But that’s not how it works. And you, well you  _ killed  _ that part of your life. So now you’re here.  _ We’re _ here. And here? It’s pretty good.” 

 

I paused for a moment, trying to put words to my thoughts. Finan wasn’t some broken thing, cracked and primed to shatter. He didn’t come across as a man consumed by his memories. He did have them, though. He’d undergone something terrible and that surely left a mark, even when you handled it well. I wasn’t about to assume  _ I  _ would be the one he would talk to in the future, if he even  _ needed  _ to talk about it. But I wanted him to know it was an option. 

 

I flipped my injured hand so I could squeeze his. 

 

“I know I talk too much. I’m pretty sure I’m doing it right now, but I can listen too. And I’m happy to. Any time.” 

 

I gave what I hoped was a warm smile and not a grimace (I can’t trust my face. I think I’m smiling in a group photo and then surprise! I look like I’ve been smacked in the face with a wet fish) before releasing his hand and returning mine to my lap. 

 

The Irishman smiled properly this time. “Thank you, Adeline.” 

 

_ So me going all rambly and soppy wasn’t a friendship-killer. That’s a relief.  _

 

Before adding, “Are ya sure ya talk too much? I’d not noticed.” 

 

I raised my good hand, running it down my face as I laughed. I didn’t really have an answer for that, and that was okay. We lapsed into a peaceful quiet. It wasn’t silent - we were out in the wilds so treated to nature’s soundtrack. I could hear the wind in the trees and the cicadas in the shrubs, and animal calls I couldn’t identify.

 

Drowsiness was my enemy as the smoking embers glowed. Through bleary eyes I watched as the light waxed and waned, almost extinguishing itself before finding life from somewhere. I’d resigned myself to spending the rest of the night awake and yet here I was fighting sleep, head propped in my good hand. I needed the sleep, but I knew I wouldn’t find any back in the tent. Isn’t tired-logic wonderful? It’s what has people splattered across the floor in an airport, so desperate to grab some sleep that the last time that floor you’re drooling over was cleaned is suddenly irrelevant. It made curling up right there on the floor a very attractive idea. So I slid from my log, made a pillow from my arms and got comfy. 

 

“Ya plan to take rest  _ here _ ?” Finan asked dubiously. 

 

He didn’t think it was a good idea - clearly he wasn’t under the influence of tired-logic. I shifted, turning my head so I could see him sitting above me. 

 

“Are you on watch for the rest of the night?”

 

“I am.” 

 

I pressed my face further into my arms, eyes sliding shut, mumbling: “then yeah. Don’t let anything eat me, okay?”    

 

I’m pretty sure he said something else, but I couldn’t tell you what. I was asleep before he finished the sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This one took me two weeks instead of four, and I'm much happier with it. I do hope to return to weekly updates at some point, but I like to write a little ahead so until I catch up to a nice point, it'll be every two. 
> 
> Not much to say this time, other than the fact that we're not far from resuming series 2. Has this been the longest interlude in all time? Quite possibly. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed. As ever, let me know what you thought!
> 
> Until next time loves.


	15. What Kind of Bear is Best?

I woke up to someone shaking my arm, and I batted the invading limb away. I rolled onto my stomach and groaned like a wounded animal. This should have drove home my point:  _ ‘please do me a favour and fuck off _ ’. 

 

“ _ Adeline. _ Will ya wake, or shall we leave ya here?” 

 

I sat up so quickly I gave myself a head rush. I stifled an earth-swallowing yawn, muttering unpleasant things under my breath. Once the tingling faded and my vision cleared, I found Finan crouched beside me. 

 

“See to the horses. I shall ready the men, and see if any meat escaped their bellies last night. We should break out fast before we leave.” 

 

I just nodded, with one foot still firmly in dreamland I wasn’t capable of stringing syllables together. Finan left to do as he’d said, and I granted myself another moment to mourn being asleep before doing the same. I felt a hundred years old as I straightened up, every joint in my body protesting spending a night on the floor. I balled my fists to rub the sleep from my eyes and hissed loudly when pain shot through my right hand. 

 

_ Oh yes. I got handsy with Finan’s sword.  _

 

I spent much of the morning lost in last night’s fireside conversation. In itself, it wasn’t all that noteworthy. Two people sharing a little about themselves, touching on deep topics befitting the dark sky and the late hour. But seeing the Irishman open up like that had sparked my curiosity. I wanted to know  _ everything _ . I wanted to sit somewhere quiet enough to hear the melody of the songbirds, where we could smell the sweet aroma of wildflowers on the breeze. I wanted nothing and no-one to disturb us as he assembled the path of his life for me to see. From the very beginning, brick by brick, memory by memory, until it finished at our feet. 

 

While on the topic of last night, there was no ignoring the way my heart had lurched. I couldn’t just brush aside the feelings that had stirred in my chest. I’m not a  _ total  _ idiot - I had a pretty good idea about why I’d reacted like that. But I wasn’t going to name it yet, not until I was  _sure._

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

We made great time that day. The weather was lovely, perhaps an apology for yesterday’s heavy rain, and the temperature was neither too hot nor cold for the horses. By midday Coccham’s walls appeared in the distance, poking up into the pale blue sky. 

 

Our first job on arriving was to meet Uhtred in the hall, for a debrief. Finan sat at the table beside his friend and detailed the meeting with Lord Elmer. I kept quiet, sipping away at a mug of mead and appreciating the wonders of day-drinking. I took a surreptitious peek down the table. Would anyone notice if I grabbed the pitcher and poured myself another? I heard the Irishman mention Alhwald and I forgot about the alcohol (a phrase I  _ never _ thought I would use), tuning back in. This was the part where Elmer’s right-hand man sided with  _ us _ . I wanted to hear about it from the horses mouth. 

 

“Alhwald, he did agree with you?” Uhtred asked, apparently curious too. 

 

“Yes, Lord. He spoke of us all as allies under Alfred’s rule. Felt the need to wait ‘til the guard were gettin twitchy, mind.”

 

“He said nought until  _ after  _ you drew your sword?” 

 

“Alhwald saw they were not prepared for one fighter, never mind an army. It was the push he needed to speak his mind.” Rypere shrugged, putting his opinion into the mix. 

 

“Adeline spoke with him before we gathered in the hall. I suspect that too had some bearin on his choice.” Finan added.

 

I froze, eyes wide. 

 

“This is true?” Uhtred asked, turning to me with a surprised look I’m certain mirrored mine.  

 

Shock wearing off, I replied. “Yes Lord. Well, it’s true that Alhwald and I spoke of the bigger picture, the Northmen. I thought if Lord Elmer’s prejudices were stopping him listening to you, he might take the advice better from someone he trusted. I couldn’t say whether he took it in - he’s a hard man to read.”  

 

Uhtred nodded before looking back to Finan. The Irishman went on to explain how after listening to Alhwald talk, Elmer stood his guard down. There was at last a discussion regarding the town’s structure, the guard and their training, in which Balbury’s Lord was open to suggestions. I was listening to an extent, but my mind was buzzing. I hadn’t realised Finan knew the content of my conversation with Alhwald, nor thought it’d impacted his stance. I wanted to ask him about it, but more than anything, I was just pleased I may have been of some help. As I was mulling this over the meeting drew to a close. I knew Finan would hang back to talk to Uhtred, so I lingered outside the hall after the other men had left. 

 

As I suspected, the man in question appeared at the hall’s entrance a good ten minutes later. Pushing myself from the wall I’d been lent against, I walked over to him.

 

“I thought ya would have left for the alehouse by now?” 

 

“It’s the middle of the day, even your company hasn’t driven me that mad. Yet.” 

 

“Is that a challenge?” he smirked, hands grasping the neckline of his armour. 

 

“ _ No! _ ” I laughed, ignoring the warmth bubbling in my stomach.  “I wanted to talk to you. About what you said in there, about me.”

 

“I told Uhtred the truth. Alhwald’s stance is changed since last we spoke, and I believe ya had a hand in that.” 

 

I felt my cheeks flush at the praise, and I pulled my braid over one shoulder to fiddle with the end. 

 

“But how did you know? You couldn’t have heard all of my conversation with Alhwald.” 

 

“I heard a little. Then after Alhwald spoke in Uhtred’s defence, it became clear he’d not formed those opinions alone.” 

 

“Thank you.” I said earnestly. “You didn’t have to say anything.” 

 

While my relationship with Uhtred sailed on smoother seas than it once had, I still felt there was work to be done there. I’d never been able to properly thank him, or repay him, for how good he’d been to me. The more I thought about it, the more grateful I was for Finan putting in a good word. 

 

“If I'd not spoken, ya would have kept quiet, would ya not?" 

 

“I guess so,” I admitted. 

 

“Then yes, I did,” Finan shrugged, giving me an easy smile. 

 

Despite his initial teasing, we  _ had  _ set off for the tavern after that. All of the household guard, both the ones we’d travelled with and those who’d remained, had gathered there. Today wasn’t going to be a productive day. I sat with Sihtric, happily filling him in on what he’d missed. I didn’t mention the latest occurrence of accidental public nudity. We spent all afternoon, then all evening drinking, so it’s safe to say we were pretty plastered. 

 

A game of dice was set up and group of the guys were foolish enough to gamble with their silver against Clapa. Many would head home tonight with lighter pockets. I didn’t play - I’m not keen on gambling and I’m a sore loser. I was trying to pick up the rules of a new game someone had suggested, though from across the table, Finan’s rich laughter kept stealing my attention. Clapa finally took pity on the others after his fourth consecutive victory (I still had no idea how the game worked) and excused himself to buy another round of drinks. 

 

I was facing the other way, so I don’t really know what happened next. I assume Clapa tripped over something, sending the platter of drinks flying. The first I knew about it was when said ale connected with the back of my head. I received the glorious combination of pain from the mug’s impact, and the cold shock of alcohol against my hair. I jumped sharply, adding my ‘what the  _ fuck _ ?’ to the cacophony of complaints. Anyone close by had received a similar soaking; to my right, Osred seemed to have it worst. My head was throbbing and I could feel the sticky liquid trickling down my neck. It was  _ gross.  _ I turned around sharply… and found I was powerless against the giggles bubbling in my throat. I couldn’t stay mad in the face of the downed Clapa, floating on his back in an ocean of ale, laughing heartily. 

 

It became clear he had no intention of getting up when he crossed his arms behind his head and attempted to  _ get comfy on the floor.  _ Extracting yourself from those long bench-seats tables have is difficult at the best of times, so my drunk-ass had tremendous difficulty. I managed to get free, tripped over to the Dane, and stuck my hand out. A huge smile split his face, and he lunged forward for my hand. He was a good foot too far to the left. The genuine confusion on his face almost had my knees buckling. 

 

Then Osred, The World’s Nicest Man, wobbled over and shoved Clapa from behind (giggle). I grabbed his flailing arms as he stood and between the pair of us we got the tall man back to his seat. Neither Finan nor Sihtric had lifted a finger to help us, simply laughing at their comrade around their ales. So as I sat, took a sip of my drink all casual like, and kicked Finan’s leg. He jumped and spilled a good portion of his drink straight into his lap. Any attempts at subtlety on my part were squandered when I snorted loudly, breaking into laughter. Naturally this led to most of that sip of ale finding its way to my nose and beginning to leak out.  

 

Between us, I think we  _ wore _ more than  _ drank _ our alcohol that night. 

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

I moved in with Hild permanently a few months after our trip to Balbury. Sihtric and Ealhswith were getting on as well as ever and I wanted to give them their privacy, for all our sake. My sore back wouldn’t stand for many more nights on the floor, so Hild and I carried my bed from Sihtric’s home to hers. While I’d been medieval-sofa-surfing on her floor for some time, it felt more definitive after that. 

 

By this point, I barely wore the green dress anymore. There was nothing wrong with it, but it was impractical compared to the tunic and leggings combo. I’d had a second set made to replace my current spare, the battered old set of Hild’s, as well as a thick cloak for colder days and long rides. That had gotten me thinking about armour, more specifically, the kind of armour  _ I  _ would need. Knowing my housemate had her own, I raised the topic one night over dinner. 

 

“What kind of armour would a woman need for fighting, Hild? I know I’d need to have it made, do you think anyone in Coccham would do it?”

 

The nun blinked. “You wish to have armour made?” 

 

“Well, yeah. I don’t fancy going into battle without any,” I frowned. She was usually so sharp, it was odd to see her asking such an unnecessary question. 

 

Hild nodded, humming her agreement. She laid her spoon down, one pale hand drifting to the cross she always wore around her neck. She ran it between her fingers for a moment, lost in thought.

 

“Hild?” I prompted quietly. 

 

“I’m unsure which path to take,” she replied. Grey eyes, bright like sunlight dancing across the surface of a lake, found mine. “Should I continue to fight? Or should I lay down my sword?” 

 

The nun looked troubled - this had clearly been weighing on her mind for a while. I could only assume I’d reminded her by mentioning armour. 

 

“Tell me what you’re thinking. What’s got you questioning this?” 

 

“Do you know how I met Uhtred?” 

 

I was a little thrown by the change in subject, but nodded nonetheless. “Yeah. You fled Wintanceaster with him when the Danes attacked. You fought with him at the Battle of Ethandun.” 

 

“That is true. But that is not  _ all  _ of the truth. I was attacked by one of the Northmen. His intention was  _ not  _ to kill me. I was saved by the bravery of a woman named Iseult, Uhtred and Lord Odda’s man, Leofric. We fought at Ethandun as you say. Uhtred and myself survived. Afterwards, there was nothing I desired more than to learn to wield a sword. I would not be defenseless again. Uhtred agreed to teach me sword skill, and I have fought by his side ever since.”

 

I felt every drop of colour, every ounce of warmth drain from my face as she wove her tale. A cold belonging only to the depths of winter seemed to have taken root somewhere in my chest. When had I dropped my spoon, and moved to clutch at the table instead? My knuckles were as white as snow, nails threatening to splinter the wood beneath my fingertips. 

 

_ Shake it off. Hild needs a friend. Shake. It. Off.  _

 

“I no longer feel that need,” she continued. “I’m in search of  _ peace _ .”

 

I took a few steadying breaths, slowly releasing the table from the death grip it’d been locked in. I forced my lips to move. “Hild, I-”  _ Fuck,  _ what could I possibly say? “I’m sorry. Are you doing okay, now?”

 

She sighed softly. “It was a long time ago.” Her face took on an odd little smile. It was a smile borne not from happiness, but from acceptance and a refusal to be broken. 

 

I reached over the table, wrapping my hand around her wrist. She kept her cross clasped tightly in her other hand. 

 

“You’re braver than I’ll ever be, Hild. You can do anything you set your mind to. And whatever you choose? You know you’ll have our unwavering support.” 

 

She smiled properly this time. 

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

The Rodor-situation was at a stalemate. Nerian had warned us both that another incident would have serious consequences, and as much as I  _ hated  _ that man, I valued my job. I couldn’t resist poking at him though. His nose had a bump in it from our last, uhmm,  _ conversation _ , and I took every opportunity to ask him, with great concern, how it had happened. 

 

Beyond inter-office politics, things were changing in the stables. A few foals were bred each year, keeping a constant supply of horses to replace the older ones when they could no longer work. I know how harsh that sounds. Especially compared to the sentimentality with which we regard our pets, often part of our family, in the modern world. While oxen were used in farming, in this time horses were the fastest mode of transport across land and  _ that _ was where their value lay. I didn’t like it, but it was the way of things. The foals, however, were so  _ endearing _ , with their skinny legs and their sense of balance worse even than mine. Watching them grow was a joy. A few were now adults and old enough to be backed - trained to be safe to ride, and listen to the instructions of the rider. Nerian had given me the responsibility of one of those horses. The new stable lad would take over my afternoon duties for the duration of the endeavour. 

 

The first afternoon, I was a bundle of excited nerves. The young horse I was to work with was a light grey, his coat shining where the sun bounced off of his back. He was a sturdy breed, bred for a calm demeanour and the ability to withstand tough journeys. He’d barely been handled, so I spent a week getting him used to human contact, then another leading him around by rope. My anxieties had been unwarranted - this dude was as cool as a cucumber.

 

I’d almost gone with cucumber for his name. But of all the vegetables in the world, the cucumber is a pretty weak effort, don’t you think? It’s more water than food, and a soggy sandwich can normally be traced back to the inclusion of cucumber. So I went for mushrooms. They’re The Undisputed Vegetable Kings. It’s a bold,  _ bold,  _ move to cook risotto without them. Plus, Mushroom was the same colour as your standard edible mushroom. It was meant to be. 

 

Young horses weren’t the only source of excitement, however. 

 

It was a sunny day when Gisela gave birth to her second child. I remember the day well, because I got to meet little Stiorra. She was pink and wrinkly and  _ adorable _ . Holding her gave me all kinds of anxiety. She was this precious new person, so vulnerable, and they were letting  _ me  _ hold her? There was every chance my legs would just give out, as they tended to do without cause, and I’d drop her.

 

_ Oh hell, will she survive if I drop her? Will  _ I  _ survive Gisela’s mother-bear wrath if I  _ do  _ drop her? _

 

That had me considering bear-based worse case scenarios. If Gisela  _ was  _ a bear, which kind would be the least likely to cause my gory demise? And then I immediately realised how stupid that was. There isn’t a type of bear that couldn’t bloody  _ annihilate  _ me if it wanted to. Irrespective of the opinions of one Dwight Schrute, the only school of thought regarding bears (when provoked) is ‘oh, fuck  _ me  _ I’m dead.’ 

 

Then Stiorra let loose a tiny yawn and I was rendered a smiling mess, all thoughts of my imminent mauling scattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Enjoy some more relaxed, slice of life stuff before things get crazy. I reckon 1 more chapter, then we're at episode 5. 
> 
> How did you like this one? I hope you were all pleased! 
> 
> Until next time loves.


	16. Try-Outs For The X-Men

My archery had been steadily improving. I no longer struggled with the weight of the bow, and I could consistently hit a stationary target from a fair distance. I taught myself how to compensate for the wind, too. But to be effective in battle, and not just a sitting duck while I re-loaded and aimed, I needed to be  _ faster.  _ Hitting moving targets would be handy, too, but strangely enough there weren’t many volunteers to help me practise. 

 

I was taking a drink of water between practice rounds (I’d drawn up my rings on the back of Hild’s home now. I was slowly making my way round the houses of Coccham - a serial arrow-wielder leaving her weird, circular calling card) one evening, watching the bustle of the village. Wondering absently how many more tiny walled-worlds, centers of life, Alfred had founded during his reign. And just like that it hit me. 

 

Alfred was pretty Great. 

 

As in Alfred  _ the  _ Great. 

 

I know, I know, how the  _ hell  _ did I not realise that before? Once it hit me I assure you I was asking myself the same question. I’ve already told you I have no great passion for history - science is my thing. All I knew about Alfred the Great prior to taking a jaunt through time was that he was a medieval king famous for uniting England against Vikings. It all made sense though.  _ This  _ King Alfred had fought the Danes at Ethandun, oversaw the conversion of Guthrum to Christianity and created the Danelaw in the north. He was a well-respected King, renowned for his intelligence, even if there were those who doubted his health. 

 

Overcome by my own obliviousness, I had to sit down. Without knowing it, I’d been living through the formative years of my home country. England wasn’t reality, not yet; England was Alfred’s dream. There’d been a time when this revelation would have made me feel farther than ever from the present  But I’d grown since then. I was no longer a woman who could be defeated by reminders of what I’d lost. 

 

When I’d sworn myself to Uhtred, I’d had two key motivators. One - to earn the home he was offering me. Two - to give me purpose and a way to feel strong again. Now I had a third -  this was the birth of my _home_ , and I was going to _fight for it._

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

The day of reckoning was at my door. I rode Mushroom, the young horse I’d been working on, today. The calmest horse can take umbrage to the idea of someone  _ sitting on it _ , and tell you ‘no thank you, not today’ by ways of bucking you off and watching you eat dirt. And falling off  _ hurts _ . 

 

Sihtric was watching for moral support, so I tasked him with holding Mushroom still. My closest friend’s presence felt comforting. Then Finan and Clapa appeared, like bloodhounds following the scent of my approaching demise. 

 

Over the past few weeks I’d gotten Mushroom used to the bridle and saddle cloth. The saddle was a different story. As with every other time I’d tried this, the grey backed away, snorting warily. But today  _ wasn’t  _ any other day, it was  _ the day _ and I had a backup plan. 

 

I put the saddle down and returned to Mushroom’s side with a wooden bucket in hand. I stepped onto it and took the reigns into my left hand, using my right to run along his back in soothing strokes. I could feel eyes on me, and for a moment I wondered precisely how dumb the guys thought this was. Then I remembered I didn’t care. 

 

“You best be holding on tight.” I said, smiling at Sihtric to try and dispel the nerves coiling in my stomach. 

 

He rolled his eyes. “I would caution against this, but I know you will not listen.” 

 

“Relax. It’s gonna be  _ fine _ .” 

 

_ Famous last words. I thought my high school prom would be ‘fine’ but then Phoebe threw a whole rack of ribs at her friend because they turned up in the same dress, and someone vomited on our headmaster. _

 

_ … _

 

_ It was me.  _

 

“I will be astounded if you walk away from this unharmed.” 

 

“You’re so sure of yourself? How about this: if I stay on, you style my hair like yours and Hild’s.”

 

I motioned to Sihtric’s head, adorned by twists collected with a clasp. I’d been messing with my hair on and off in the evenings to try and recreate the look with no success. 

 

The Dane cocked his head, the braids in question swaying slightly. “And if you fall?” 

 

_ This is a bad idea. _   
  


“Well that’s up to you. What do you want?” 

 

“I should have cleaned the training swords last week.” 

 

_ Amendment of prior analysis: this is a terrible idea. I hate cleaning. Recommended course of action: back down.  _

 

“You’re on.” 

 

_ Why must you be this way.  _

 

Dubious bet agreed upon, I turned my attention back to Mushroom. I braced my hands, bent my knees and sprung upwards, flinging my right leg up and over his rump. I landed with a soft plop, directly on the saddle cloth. The moment my weight was on his back he jumped, lurching to one side and out of Sihtric’s hold. I pitched forward sharply, centre of gravity way off to the right somewhere. Instinct kicked in and I clung on tightly with my legs, hands grasping for purchase on his mane as I slid parallel with his neck. 

 

Sihtric moved in my peripheral and Mushroom whipped his head around to track his steps, letting out a loud snort. I very nearly lost my grip, muscles beginning to protest the strain. 

 

“Don’t spook him! Keep still,” I urged. “I’ve got this.” 

 

I used every ounce of core strength the last few years had granted me, abs burning, as slowly, inch by inch, I hauled myself upright. I sat still and spoke to him in a calm, low voice. Once he’d relaxed, air leaving his lungs in a big huff that was actually pretty cute, I gave his shoulder a gentle pat. I nudged him with my ankles. He took one hesitant step, then another, before moving into a walk. We began to make slow, wobbly circles around Sihtric.

 

“I can’t believe it!” I beamed. “Looks like you’re gonna have to clean those swords yourself.” 

“I suppose I am,” he grinned back, not looking particularly bothered by the prospect. I think he was too busy being relieved I hadn’t broken my neck. 

 

Behind Sihtric, I saw Finan and Clapa heading over from their spot by the stables.

 

I slowed Mushroom to a stop, waiting until they’d reached us before unleashing another face-splitting grin on them. “Didn’t he do well?” 

 

“ _ You _ did well,” Clapa corrected.

 

“Stop being so nice to me,” I smiled, beginning to fiddle with the tufts of the grey’s mane. 

 

Mushroom chose the perfect time to interrupt the awkward receiving of compliments. He pushed his nose against Sihtric’s stomach and sent him stumbling backwards. Laughter erupted from our little group. 

 

_ Wait a minute. Did I just develop a telepathic connection with horses?  _

 

_ Mushroom? If you can hear me, sneeze on Finan.  _

 

The Irishman remained snot-free for the duration. Sadly, I’m not one of the X-Men. 

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

My underwear had put up a valiant fight. The sports bra had endured, it was practically rags but I wasn’t letting go of that shit until it  _ fell  _ from my body. The unicorn pants, however, had met their inevitable end. 

 

Women wore a shift-like dress under their day dress as underwear. Obviously that wasn’t going to fly under trousers. Unfortunately, the shift was usually the  _ only  _ thing worn. Didn’t things get a bit drafty? Luckily for me, the dudes wore these weird, oversized kind-of-boxer-like-but-really-not creations. You can imagine the seamstresses horror when I asked her to make me a few pairs. She wasn’t going to turn the custom down though, so she harrumphed, told me I was a sinful woman, and then made them. When I collected them I gave her my best saucy wink, and she chased me from her home with a cooking pot. 

 

Replacements at the ready, it was time to say goodbye to the pants. I gave them a funeral service. Partly because I was saying goodbye to one of the three items I owned from my own time. But mainly because if you had the chance to set your knickers on fire and float them down a river, don’t for one  _ minute  _ tell me you wouldn’t. 

 

My little wood-and-rope raft was the definition of a botched job, but it only needed to last a few minutes. Getting the fire to the contraption had been the problem. To get it, I’d shoved a stick in the blacksmith’s forge and used that to light some dried leaves. The only thing I could find to transport the leaves was a wooden bowl, so once they were lit I bolted for the gates. 

After a few near collisions I started shouting for people to move whenever I turned a corner. When presented with a weird, wailing woman and the flaming household object in her hands, anyone about promptly removed themselves from my path. 

 

And that’s how I found myself stood outside Coccham, watching my funeral pyre drift away. It was calming watching it burn, watching the little plume of smoke floating away from the flames and up into the sky. 

 

Once it was out of sight I left, making my way towards the stables for the afternoon rounds. I didn’t quite make it. On the way I spotted Finan and Clapa headed for the training area, arms piled high with swords and axes. They were leaning back a little to counteract the heavy load. I jogged across to intersect them. 

 

“Hey! Hold on, I’ll give you guys a hand.” 

 

The duo stopped, turning to face me as I reached them. Clapa was closest to me, so I began to pluck the top-most weapons from his arms and lay them on the floor. He probably didn’t need any help; the dude’s  _ at least  _ 6’6 and his arms are like tree trunks. But Clapa’s a good egg so he let me take them and thanked me while he was at it. 

 

I moved onto Finan’s armful, carefully taking the precariously balanced axe on top.  

 

“Ya have our thanks. I’ve all but lost the feelin in my arms,” he quipped. 

 

I poked his arm, smirking when he flinched. “Clearly not.” 

 

I moved to take a sword next, but found the hilt was caught on a loose thread. 

 

“You have poor carrying technique,” I tutted. “Now I need to sort this out.” 

 

“Ya took it upon yaself to help,” Finan shrugged, grinning un-repentantly. 

 

“A minute ago you were thanking me? Besides. I couldn’t leave two delicate flowers to struggle like that now could I?” 

 

“ _ Flower _ ?” Clapa said indignantly.

 

“Yeah. I think you’d be a daisy, to match your moustache.” 

 

I spotted one of the flowers in question not far away, so I nipped over to pluck it. I returned to Clapa and tucked it into one of the folds in his armour. He sighed, gave me his patented  _ Adeline-you-are-mad  _ looks, but didn’t put the weapons down to move it. Success. 

 

Flower-child created, I turned back to the Irishman. “Hold still while I untangle this, I don’t wanna chop my hand off.” 

 

“With the hilt of a sword?” 

 

Dude had a point. 

 

Not that I’d tell him that.

 

So I just rolled my eyes and stepped in close. With one hand resting on his forearm to steady it, I used the other free his shirt. It took a minute; like headphones left in a pocket, the thread seemed to have a mind of it’s own, knotting itself something awful. Finan twitched, the muscles beneath my hand jumping. Probably from trying to hold himself still. How would those muscles feel when they moved under skin laid bare, the confines of clothing gone? I was a little alarmed by how badly I wanted to know. 

 

_ Get a grip woman. Preferably  _ not  _ of him.   _

 

Thankfully, the thread came loose not a moment later. 

 

Finally I stooped to collect my pile of weapons, and we were off. The guys had picked them up from being sharpened, so I handled them with extreme caution as we walked. On reaching the training area, I deposited the weapons by the empty rack, wished Finan and Clapa a speedy farewell, and split. Despite having no access to conventional time-keeping methods, Nerian always knew when I was late. So for the second time that day, I found myself sprinting through Coccham like the devil was on my heels. 

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

I’d been learning sword-skill for three years. While there was always more to learn, I was getting somewhere. I didn’t measure up to Uhtred or his inner circle yet. But I  _ could  _ claim victories over other members of the guard, and I had my teachers’ expertise to thank for that. I was comfortable fighting with a singular sword despite many favouring a dual-wielding approach. My inferior strength was my greatest weakness and medieval weapons are bloody heavy, so a one armed attack just wasn’t going to have enough power. 

 

Sihtric made good on his lost bet the next night we both found ourselves in the tavern. I sat cross-legged on a table while my hairdresser stood, affording him the best vantage point over my head. A few of the guard were here too. Even without the presence of Clapa and his uncanny affinity for the game, Finan was losing at dice, and Hild was enjoying the show. Between the gentle pulling on my hair and the cosy warmth of the tavern, it was difficult not to feel sleepy. I had a drink I’d barely touched. The next thing I knew, he’d given the piece of hair he was holding a sharp tug. 

 

I yelped, throwing a glare over my shoulder as best I could. 

 

“That was uncalled for! I wasn’t asleep, just relaxing.”

 

“Then why were you snoring?” 

 

“I don’t snore!” I protested. “Besides, you can’t talk! You snore so loudly you keep the pigs awake.” 

 

“I’ve heard no complaints from Ealhswith.” a new section of hair from above my left ear was pulled back tightly and I winced, “Perhaps you have imagined it? 

 

“You sound like a combine harvester - there’s no  _ way  _ I could imagine it. Speaking of Ealhswith, where is she?” 

 

Since they’d been living together, the brunette had been able to give up her previous occupation. She now worked as a barmaid in the tavern, and I was surprised she wasn’t here tonight. 

 

“Resting, she’s slept poorly these last few nights.” 

 

“You don’t say? I wonder, why could that be?” 

 

Sihtric was quiet for a moment, before: “I could leave your hair unfinished?” 

 

“Alright, alright!” I laughed. “How are things with your lady love?” 

 

“I’ve found a happiness unlike any I’ve known before. She is a gift.” 

 

I could hear the adoration in his voice. He’d found something real with Ealhswith. Something worth holding onto. And  _ fuck _ , was he overdue that. Sihtric’s childhood had been harsh, his lot cruel - he’d had to harden himself to survive. And yet he was still so kind, so compassionate. He deserved the kind of joy that seeped into every smile and laugh. I told him as much, and he’d made some vague sound. He was far too modest. 

 

I could feel a pull at the hair over my right ear when a loud shout interrupted the previous steady thrum of noise. Clapa had appeared like a vengeful spirit ready to cause havoc, and any dice players even half-sober were rapidly retreating. 

 

A minute or two later and Sihtric was all done, putting his spare clasp into my hair to hold it all in place. The moment he pronounced himself finished I was jumping down from the table and wrapping him up in a hug. 

 

“You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

 

This time he muttered a quiet thank you, and I counted that a job well done. After broke apart, he picked up part of my new hair-do before dropping it again.

 

“Are you not curious?” 

 

_ Curious? I’m about to explode. But I needed to make sure you know how great you are, doofus.  _

 

I raised a hand, seeking out whatever my friend had been working on. I ran into a tight little plait first, starting in front of my ear and winding around the back of my head to meet the clip. I found a matching one on the other side. The bottom half of my hair was loose, and the rest of the top layer was styled in those twists he and Hild rocked so well. I couldn’t see it of course, but I could feel how careful Sihtric had been - there wasn’t a stray hair to be found. 

 

“This is amazing,” I told him earnestly, still patting one of the little braids. 

 

“It will not  _ remain _ ‘amazing’,” he repeated the modern word dubiously, a little smirk at the corner of mouth, “if you keep touching it.” 

 

I sighed, feigning annoyance, before we both broke into grins. 

 

We abandoned our quiet hairdressing corner in favour of the ex-dice table. Clapa had arrived, won most of the silver in play, and left. Those stupid enough to remain when he’d arrived had finally packed it in after that. Hild and Finan were still present, and still either highly amused, or questioning their choices. I’m sure you can guess who was who. Sihtric had wandered off to talk to Rypere about something, so I plopped it down in a space opposite them. Two sets of eyes traveled straight upwards. 

 

I wiggled my eyebrows. “So, do I look like a Dane?” 

 

A beat of silence, before two responses came almost simultaneously:

 

“Aye.” 

 

“Who did you trick into weaving that for you?”

 

I hadn’t told anyone in a bid to catch them off guard, and I’d certainly managed that with Finan. His voice had wrapped around the word with a different cadence; the way he emphasised it sounded different than any time before. 

 

To Hild, I replied: “Sihtric lost a bet.” 

 

The nun looked over at said bet-loser, her face a picture of laughter. “I find that easy to believe.” 

 

Smiling wide, my eyes fell on Finan. (because that was just something they did, I’d accepted it now). The surprise that had dominated his face had faded, replaced by something I couldn’t name. It was there in the faint softness around his eyes. He lent across the table, beckoning me to do the same with a flick of his fingers and the kind of smirk that should’ve been  _ illegal _ . I gave him all the wary side-eye I could muster, but mirrored his action anyway. 

 

The Irishman’s hand settled above my hairline, and carefully smoothed backwards along the new twists. I held still,  _ so still,  _ trying to remember to breathe, because right now that wasn’t so easy. Watching his face felt like courting danger but I took in his every detail regardless. The ring on his middle finger brushed my ear as he inspected a tight braid. The cool metal was jarring against my skin, flushed warm in the bustling tavern. A tiny shiver rippled down my spine. He dropped his hand, sitting back, and once again I copied him wordlessly. 

 

“Ya would make a fine Dane,” he affirmed, lips  _ still  _ quirked up. 

 

There was an intensity about that man’s eyes that no amount of playfulness could negate, and it made it difficult to look away. I had to  _ force  _ my eyes elsewhere before they were swallowed up like light and a black hole. 

 

“I think I’d look better with some war paint.”

 

I dipped the first two fingers of each hand into my ale, before dragging them across my cheeks in sloppy tiger stripes. 

 

Finan laughed, shaking his head, and warmth raced through my veins. Watching the skin under his eyes crinkle… I couldn’t deny it anymore. 

 

I liked him.

 

_ Bollocks.  _

 

It was the big things - I liked the duality of his nature: he laughed so easily but he wasn’t a man to be messed with - he’d fight his corner, and fight twice as hard for his friends _. _ I liked how he’d withstood literal hell then burst free the other side, ready to take the world for all it had. 

 

It was the little things too - I liked his ridiculous stories. I liked the way his hands would become so  _ animated _ when he cared about a topic. 

 

I just liked  _ him.  _

 

It was inconvenient and entirely uncalled for. I could only hope that with time these feelings would pass. I valued our friendship too highly to let whatever the  _ fuck  _ my heart was up to ruin it, so I resolved to keep this mess to myself. A task that would certainly be easier if I could stop  _ swooning  _ every time he smiled in my general direction. Less blushing was in order, and far more firing back with my own comments - our friendship had always been underpinned by teasing, and that’s what I needed to replicate. 

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

The time between our trip to Balbury, and what came later, is one of my favourites. Summer came early and autumn never seemed to come at all. The days were warm and the lazy evenings stretched on and on. When night would finally fall, the next morning was never too far away. The peace felt solid and real, and for a while, you could be fooled into thinking nothing would break it. Like waves against a cliff, the problems of the outside world would break upon our walls. These were our halcyon days. 

 

Nothing lasts forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is where episode 5 starts folks - buckle up. 
> 
> This one had such an upbeat vibe but I know there’s so much angst coming - S2E8 & S3E2 I’m looking at you. That X-Men reference was inspired by chatting about marvel … you know who you are! One other thing I wanted to say. I did mention this in my replies to the comments, but I’m so stupidly happy people noticed maturity in Adeline, while acknowledging she’s still her wacky self. It’s what I’ve been trying to do with her character, and I could kinda cry a little because you guys noticed and ahh ok that’s enough rambling.
> 
> I'm over on tumblr under the same handle - @medievalfangirl. 
> 
> Until next time loves!


	17. The Olympic Flame

Everything was set into motion by the return of a scout. Uhtred had dispatched him a week prior to investigate rumours of Northmen raiding along the Thames, and the man confirmed as much. The men were once loyal to Guthrum, before he was baptised and became Aethelstan. Now they’d ventured into Alfred’s lands, pillaging and killing as they went, and that was something Uhtred would not tolerate. 

 

We were due to make sail this evening, and reach the last known location of the Northmen by nightfall. A few of the household guard were tasked with holding the fort here at Coccham, while the rest of us sailed. Ever since Balbury I’d been involved in more of the guard’s activities, even though I wasn’t  _ actually  _ a member, and this was no different. I suppose one more able, fighting body wasn’t to be ignored.

I mentioned how the peace had felt eternal? Well, I hadn’t sorted any armour out yet. I’d spoken with the blacksmith and there was no _way_ I could afford to have any made on a stable-hands wage. It was essential, and I’d intended to figure out a solution, but everything had been so _calm,_ so _settled._ The thought had drifted from my mind entirely and I hadn’t spent another moment on it until the briefing last night. 

 

Hild had come to my rescue this morning, suggesting I wear her armour tonight, as she wasn’t accompanying us. If I had a coin for every time the woman had lent me something, well, I’d never work again. She was a naturally selfless person, and I appreciated everything she did for me.

 

Thinking about tonight, and all it would entail, had my stomach twisting. I was nervous, apprehensive, and honestly,  _ scared shitless _ . The skill I’d learnt these past 3 years would be the only thing standing between myself and death. A gruesome, painful death. Despite my fears, I was determined to do this. Fighting for Uhtred had been the first truly autonomous choice I’d made in this world. I was as sure of that choice today as the day I made it. 

 

That brings us to right now. The sky was losing it’s light and dusk was upon us. I was sat cross-legged on my bed, slowly smoothing my hair back and up into a ponytail. Over and over again, without securing it with my hair tie. There was some calm to be found in the repetitive nature of it.

 

A sharp knock on the door had me on my feet. I paced across the room to pull it open, not sparing the knocker a glance before turning back inside. I knew it was Sihtric, we’d agreed to walk to the dock together. Heavy footsteps followed me into the room. He didn’t speak as I bound my hair, then strapped my scabbard about my waist. I wasn’t taking the bow - I still wasn’t proficient enough to use it in combat. 

 

The atmosphere was taut; the air around us pulled tight by some outside force. I could feel it pressing down on my skin. 

 

“If you’re going to try and talk me out of it, don’t bother.” I muttered, tucking my dagger into my boot. It was the one Thyra had given me, nearly a year ago now. 

 

Sihtric sighed. “You know I would not try to sway you. I only wish for you to understand how dangerous this will be. You have trained but you have not  _ fought.  _ This is different.” 

 

I heard the concern in his voice. My friend wasn’t trying to stop me - he just wanted me to know what I was walking into. _I_ _knew that._ But I was _scared,_ I hated it, and I hated the idea of him knowing that _even more_. As my eyes trailed over his furrowed brow, I couldn’t help but read further into what he’d said, to go between the lines and over analyse until I found a meaning he’d _never_ meant. His concern sounded like doubt, his care sounded like someone telling me I was weak. Dealing with fear is difficult. Letting yourself lash out is _easy._

 

“This’ll certainly be different,” I snapped. I straightened up and turned to face him, narrowing my eyes into a glare. “I killed a man when I could barely hold a sword. What do you think I’ll do to them now I  _ can _ ?”

 

The Dane’s dark eyes didn’t leave mine. I felt like he saw right through me and I couldn’t have that. I’d fought tooth and nail for approval and I was  _ not  _ going to fall at the final hurdle. I raised my chin, hand clenching around the hilt of my sword and stared right back. 

 

Eventually he spoke. “We should make for the dock.” 

 

I nodded once and we left quickly. We walked side by side, but the space between us had a thickness to it. As we approached the edge of town, I began to feel uncomfortable, like a cold chill had settled across my shoulders. I could’ve driven home my point without being so harsh with my friend. 

 

“I’m sorry I spoke to you like that,” I apologised, fiddling with Hild’s belt. 

 

Sihtric glanced at me for a moment, shaking his head. “It’s understandable that you would feel anxious before your first battle. It does not diminish you.” 

 

_ Sihtric’s wonderful. But I doubt the other men would see my fear without doubting me.  _

 

“I’m not scared.” I disagreed. Firmly, but with no bite. I gave him a small smile. “I’m ready. Enough talk, we’re at the gates.” 

 

Uhtred, Clapa and Finan were huddled together in the head of one boat, buried in discussion. Most of the men were already seated. Iden, one of the men who’d seen my accidental forest nudity, raised a disbelieving eyebrow when I climbed aboard. I was fuming all over again.

 

“ _ What? _ ” I snarled. 

 

He shook his head, muttering something I couldn’t catch. I had to bite my lip  _ hard  _ to avoid saying anything else. I didn’t need to be starting spats in front of Uhtred. So I gave Iden the fiercest scowl I could, something easy to muster in my current mood. 

 

Once everyone was safely installed our boats were pushed off, and we were gone. 

 

Darkness had truly fallen now, the only light from the crescent moon way up above. My eyes slowly adjusted to the light, though I could still hear far more than I could see. Hushed voices. The rustle of wind through the reeds. An owl. The soft splash of the oars each time they connected with the river. My heart, pounding. 

 

When we reached the right spot, we disembarked and headed inland. Sihtric’s love for Ealhswith was the topic of conversation as we weaved through the trees, the men seemingly relaxed enough to swap caustic comments. Finan called her a whore and again I had to swallow my words. Ealhswith was strong and had a wonderful heart. She was as devoted to Sihtric and he was to her, and hearing ‘whore’ thrown around like an insult had me  _ angry.  _ She’d made an impossibly difficult choice to survive and she should  _ not  _ be condemned for it. 

I kept my gaze on the floor, I’d already tripped more than once, and tried to ignore the words flying over my head. Everything was bothering me tonight, and if I kept letting my anger speak for me I was going to say something I couldn’t take back. 

 

The company’s light mood was dashed a mere moment later when screams pierced the air. Finan and Clapa disappeared to dispatch the guards, then we scattered to hide and wait. Sihtric and I found cover behind a thick tree trunk, the grass long enough to tickle the backs of our knees. 

 

“Stay close to me.” His voice was quiet and harder than I’d heard in a long time. 

 

“I will."

 

Faint at first, boots on dew-damp grass and low voices, then louder, the men approached us. With both axe and sword in hand, Sihtric carefully edged around the tree to get a better look. I kept my back firmly pressed to the bark, letting my ears do the work. A man I assumed to be one of the Northmen hissed for quiet. So they had taken captives, as Uhtred had feared. 

 

The same man called for his colleague, the one Finan had dealt with.  

 

“Elgin. Elgin get up!” 

 

I was coiled tight like a spring, every muscle in my body tensed and ready to move. 

 

Uhtred unsheathed his sword. 

 

“Elgin!”

 

I wiped sweaty palms against my leggings. 

 

Finan held his hand up.

 

“Are you drunk?” 

 

“ _ Now _ !” 

 

Uhtred burst from the undergrowth Serpent’s Breath glinting in the firelight as he raced towards the men he would deliver to death. I ducked from behind my tree and joined the rest of the men in the charge. From the corner of my eye I briefly saw the villagers, huddled together, frantic and screaming, but I couldn’t spare them a second thought. My world had narrowed down to a sharp point, and the only thing that mattered was surviving the next few minutes. My fears, worries, my agreement with Sihtric... hell, the entire damn  _ world  _ beyond this moment and the blood roaring behind my ears… it all fell away. 

 

Men engaged with great cries. One of the Danes was making a direct run for me, so I put on a burst of speed and met him. Our swords clashed and I knocked his back, bringing my own round in a sharp arc and getting in close. He countered and held, then began to press forwards. I knew I didn’t have the strength to overpower him so I relaxed the pressure on my sword. My opponent was caught off guard and tipped forward, bracing his weight on his right leg. I used the split second advantage this granted me to deal a harsh kick to that knee. The man stumbled, swinging his sword blindly towards me. I dodged the wild move, rushed forwards and plunged my sword into his chest. Blood splattered my face, neck and chest but I’d had it drilled into me over and over,  _ don’t linger, don’t wipe away the blood, turn around or you’re dead.  _

 

I spun on the spot, chest heaving, white knuckle grip holding my sword aloft, to find it was over. Around me, the men of Coccham were already pulling weapons from the bodies of dead opponents. In the time it had taken me to handle one man, the others had dealt with the rest of the war band. I quickly located Uhtred, Finan, Clapa and Sihtric. They were alright.  _ Thank fuck.  _ A rapid headcount revealed everyone was still standing and some of the tension eased from my body. 

 

Glancing down at the weapon that hung limply in my hand, I watched as the blood dripped and pooled in the grass at my feet. Moments ago it had coursed through the veins of a living, breathing person. I’d killed that person and spilled their blood. I hurriedly wiped my sword before sheathing it and heading across the clearing to Sihtric. 

 

“I don’t think you could have strayed further if you tried,” he remarked drily as I reached him. 

 

I shrugged, trying to ignore how doing so rippled my skin under hot, sticky liquid. I could  _ feel it  _ under my nails. My friend watched me carefully. 

 

“I’m alright,” I assured quietly. 

 

And I was. I was shaken and trembling. I’d just taken a life - that wasn’t an easy thought to sit with. But that didn’t mean I was opposed to this course of action. I watched the villagers, slowly picking themselves up and drifting back to the ruins of their homes, and felt my resolve harden. They would have been sold into slavery or kept as pets and whores. 

 

Sihtric tilted his head and I mustered a brief smile. “Honestly.”

 

Across the grass, Uhtred was instructing Finan on something regarding corpses and trees, before issuing a threat to the sole survivor. He was to carry it back to his camp, and hopefully discourage others from this kind of barbarity. 

 

I turned back to Sihtric. “With Uhtred’s permission, I want to find something to use for armour of my own. Will you help me? I don’t really know what I’m looking for.” 

 

“I will. It will need adjusting, but the smith will ask for less silver for that than for new pieces.” 

 

I nodded, poking at the trampled grass with the toe of my boot. “I’ll be back in a moment.” 

 

Seeing Finan had left on his unholy errand I made my way over to where Uhtred was surveying the battlefield. His long hair was tousled and one cheek was painted red, but he seemed unharmed. 

 

“Lord? May I take some armour from the, uhm, men? I’m sure you recognise that this is Hild’s.” 

 

Uhtred seemed to weigh my request for a moment. His dark eyes trailed down my neck, no doubt taking in the blood splatters, before settling on my arm. 

 

“You may. Wash your wound when we return to Coccham.” 

 

I blinked, confused, before I thought to follow his gaze. My shirt was torn, an angry red cut peeking through the gap. I pulled the fabric aside for a better look and found only the top most layers of skin were damaged. It didn’t hurt yet, something I could attribute to the adrenaline that still wouldn’t let my hands hold steady. 

 

“I will. Thank you, Lord.” 

 

In the end we scavenged wrist guards which could be tightened with leather straps, a scabbard, and some chain mail that would work with a few alterations. 

 

We left once Uhtred’s river warning was prepared, and had reached Coccham by dawn. The rising sun outlined the thatch roofs in a blur of reds and yellows.In the light of a new day, the deeds of the night felt a little further away. 

 

While I’d washed as best I could and hastened to the stables, Uhtred had returned to find a visitor awaiting him. The man’s name was Aethelwold and he was the legitimate air to the throne. I’d never met him, but the word was he was unfit to rule, and Alfred had acted with the people’s interests in mind by taking the throne. It was also said that the disgruntled, usurped noble spoke of little other than dissent. I wasn’t privy to his meeting with our Lord, but Aethelwold’s opinions regarding Alfred hardly made it’s topic a mystery. 

 

Shortly after the man who’d make himself King left Coccham, the real King arrived. His procession of advisers, noblemen and priests may have looked impressive, but all the horses needed to be cared for. Even with the stable lad working as many hours as me we were hard pressed to keep up. 

 

Coccham seemed the place to be, because during the King’s visit yet  _ another  _ visitor arrived, this time by river. A trader named Godwine and his axe-head cargo were late, and when they were finally seen, it was in the company of armed men. So when the trader docked outside the gates, it was to an audience. Clapa, Finan, myself and Sihtric stood in that order, weapons in hand or close by. Uhtred was sat on the steps, a picture of nonchalance as he chewed a piece of wood. 

 

All was well until Godwine asked how many axe heads were required. Clearly bored of playing ignorant, Uhtred stood and approached the man. 

 

“My men saw warriors aboard your ship. Is this true?” 

 

The trader’s lip twitched. “Three men only, Lord. It is a Northman. He wishes to speak with you, alone.”

 

“Can I trust this Northman?”

 

“He says that you know him. His name is Erik. He has a brother: Sigefrid.” 

 

I recognised the names immediately from a story Hild had told me. Before Dunholm Uhtred had taken Sigefrid’s hand, and the brothers had left England to raid elsewhere. My stomach pulled uncomfortably - surely  _ nothing _ good could come of their return? 

 

Uhtred appeared to agree. His entire body demeanour changed upon hearing the names. He straightened to his full height, shoulders tensed, and turned to face us. 

 

“Finan, first sign of trouble, fire the ship.” 

 

Our Lord didn’t wait to see Finan’s response, knowing he’d do it in a heartbeat, and made for the ship. The Irishman too was quick to move, no hesitation in his gate as he paced across the dock. 

 

“There’ll be no need for fire, Lord,” The bargeman tried to assure. 

 

Uhtred didn’t respond, stepping onto the ship. 

 

Concerned, Godwine turned and stopped short, finding Finan with one arm propped against a post. It was a casual act, but his voice was anything but as he held the traders eye. 

 

“Sihtric, fetch me a whole bunch of torches.” 

 

The Dane hastened away to do just that, and Finan looped his arm around Godwine’s neck. 

 

_ Oh look, a medieval headlock.  _

 

“I like to be prepared.” 

 

That persistent confidence of his, usually apparent in his desire to take the piss out of  _ anyone _ , had a different face today. His eyebrows were low, his eyes alive with a darker kind of mischief, a promise of things  _ he  _ would enjoy and  _ others  _ would not. 

 

Godwine said nothing. Not that he needed to - the worry was written across his face as clearly as if someone had used a sharpie. He moved away from Finan, shrinking slightly under the hard look Clapa gave him. Once the man had passed, however, the Coccham men shared a smirk over his head. He looked to me next. I kept my face firm, adjusting my grip on Thyra’s knife, tucked firmly into position on my new smith-adjusted scabbard (I’m taking this opportunity to flex, and no one shall stop me). 

 

We reclaimed our original positions at the dock’s edge. Godwine stood off to one side, wringing his hands, and it wasn’t many minutes before Sihtric returned with the requested torches. He offered two to the Irishman, who took one in each hand with zeal. It appeared he was rather excited at the prospect of burning this man’s barge. He was grinning with all the enthusiasm of an Olympic torch-bearer. 

 

Staring at the side of a boat, unable to see or hear the conversation occurring on board, was hardly riveting entertainment. 

 

“Guys, I think I hear something. It’s such a shame, but I  _ guess  _ we have no choice. Uhtred did say the  _ first  _ sign of trouble,” I joked. I pitched my voice with fake remorse, letting each word fall slowly from my mouth like I was hesitant to say them.

 

A deep chuckle left the torch-bearer. “Do not tempt me.” 

 

_ Oh I’d  _ really  _ like to tempt you.  _

 

He was still focused on the scene before us, though his side profile did nothing to hide that signature grin. 

 

“Why?” I paused, cocking my head just a touch. “Isn’t temptation where the fun begins?”

 

That earned me his full attention. Eyes like melted chocolate watched me for a moment before making a sweep, from head to toe and back again. His gaze was purposeful but didn’t linger too long. It set my bones on  _ fire.  _

 

“Aye,” he agreed, sparkling eyes intent on mine. “Temptation is the root of sin.” 

 

Trying to play things cool with teasing was all well and good until he teased back with something like  _ that.  _ The way his smirking lips wrapped around the word  _ sin _ , how it  _ sounded  _ in that accent… I needed to think of something else.  _ Right now.  _

 

“So just to clarify: we’re burning the boat, right?” 

 

I glanced to Sihtric and Clapa, looking for opposition. The brunette shrugged, his face open and amused, while the moustached man straight up nodded. I saved Finan for last, giving him a questioning look. 

 

His response was to swing the torches around in his hands, grin taking on a wicked little edge.

 

_ Careful, the Olympic flame will go out.  _

 

“I have told you: there is no need for fire!”

 

We were joking, of course. We wouldn’t really burn the boat.

 

…

 

Honestly.

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

King Alfred departed shortly after, and we weren’t far behind him, bound too for Wintanceaster. The ‘we’ comprising of Uhtred, Gisela, Hild, the guard and myself. Hild had decided to hang up her sword and our Lord had given her permission to found a nunnery in Coccham. Easier smiles and richer laughter characterised her these days - she’d found her peace. 

 

Barely through the gate into the capital, and a man with a truly unfortunate bowl-cut was addressing Uhtred. 

 

“If it is not the great Lord Uhtred of the small and little known village of Coccham.”

 

His tone was patronising; he was looking for a rise. Uhtred didn’t bite, responding with nothing but faint amusement. 

 

“I see you are drinking again, Aethelwold.”

 

_ I’d have to be pretty drunk to let someone cut my hair like that, too.  _

 

So here he was, the man whose name preceded him - Aethelwold of Wessex, the legitimate ruler. He clutched his drink as if it gave him stability. 

 

“It’s just a cup or two, nothing more. I have news for you. You know where to find me.”

 

Uhtred and Gisela disappeared to their allotted dwelling, while the rest of us divested ourselves of our travelling gear at the inn. The men were keen to see Aethelred of Mercia, the betrothed of Aethelflaed, Alfred’s daughter. I shared their wish, though I have to say, I was more interested in whoever decided everyone had to have such similar, needlessly confusing names. 

 

Watching Aethelred’s procession inch its way up the street, I couldn’t help but notice how out of place he looked. From his neatly curled hair to fine coloured clothing, he was  _ immaculate.  _ The noble was acknowledging the people as if they were his adoring fans, absolutely  _ oozing  _ I’m-a-total-prat vibes. I think it was the way held himself with such grandeur, too. Aethelwold blessed us by appearing once more. I was focused on Aethelred, though my ears certainly perked up when he mentioned a  _ dead man.  _ Uhtred pulled him from the scene not a moment later. The crowd was too thick to see where they disappeared too, and my curiosity spiked. 

 

We’d barely settled in Wintanceaster before we were on the move once more. Uhtred had explained little. As we tore across wide open grassland, our horses hooves flying beneath us, I mulled over Aethelwold’s words. Could it be that we journeyed to meet a dead man?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone handles fear differently and as we’ve seen before, Adeline tends to lash out. I hope her behaviour after the skirmish seems realistic to y’all. As much as this is what she wants, she’s not going to just turn into some apathetic machine who can kill without emotion. She supports Uhtred but killing others is still going to affect her - she’s human and this isn't the world she was raised in, or the norms she was raised with. 
> 
> I just got this one out in time for the weekend huh! I graduated from university last week, so it’s been a little hectic. But I made it. 
> 
> As ever, let me know what you all thought! 
> 
> Until next time loves.


	18. No Bun Intended

To answer my dramatic question: yes, a meeting with a dead man was _exactly_ where we were headed. 

 

Arriving at Eilaf’s hall, we received a frosty reception. Armed men had gathered outside, gripping weapons and shifting their weight as they watched us. Haesten, a Dane with shadowed eyeliner, tattoos on his cheekbones and hair like a lion, claimed to lead those assembled and invited us inside. 

 

Uhtred had sent Sihtric on a solo mission. Curses, spells and seers were a part of Uhtred’s Danish beliefs. But he wasn’t naive - he knew this could all be a ruse, too. So our friend was to linger after Uhtred spoke with the dead man, and see if he _remained_ dead. 

 

I wasn't sure what to believe. As a chemistry graduate I used to have a firm belief in science, and what could be proven through study and experimentation. The closest thing to a higher power in my eyes was Marie Curie. And then without explanation I travelled through time, and naturally, I had to re-evaluate a little. Perhaps in the future time travel has been developed through science and that’s how this happened to me. Or perhaps a God got bored and decided to play. All I know is there’s very little I categorically _don’t_ believe in anymore.

 

With measured steps we entered the hall. The room felt so small, the stares of all the seated warriors heavy on our backs. Uhtred’s eyes swept the area as we walked, barely resting on one person or object for longer than a second. We took seats at the long table, with slow movements and heads on swivels. We all felt the tension, and it was tingeing our movements with caution. I sat opposite Clapa, beside Haesten, and it was impossible to ignore his physicality close-up. A strong man trained to end lives, he’d make a formidable battlefield opponent. 

 

Once we were seated, Haesten spoke of ghosts and the fear his men felt. He admitted that his Lord Erik currently resided at Beamfleot with Sigefrid. And _then_ he invited Uhtred to join them. Coccham’s Lord said nothing. He’d shared heavy glances with Finan throughout the conversation, the seriousness of this weighing on his shoulders. 

 

Bidding us to rest, our host left us to our food. The uncomfortable feeling clawing at my skin didn’t fade any as he walked away. A feeling deep in my gut told me to be _ready_. The wheels of the world were turning and things were being set into motion. Today, these events: they were important. 

 

I shuffled along to take Haesten’s place beside Finan. I didn’t like the idea of one of these unknown fighters claiming that place and splitting us.  

 

“Then it has started.” Aethelwold spoke up. 

 

The Irishman’s eyes flickered to the nobleman. “ _What_?”

 

“The end of the peace.”

 

He was voicing my own concerns, but I didn’t care for the way his eyes gleamed as he did so. His lips too betrayed him by twisting as he spoke, and giving away his true feelings. Now I understood what people meant when they said Aethelwold revelled in dissent - he was _enjoying this._

 

Banished Northmen were gathering, likely already plotting their attack on Wessex, and inviting a prominent Lord loyal to Alfred to ally with them. I’d heard the horrors of the raid on Wintanceaster from Hild. I’d seen the cruelty Kjartan and Sven were capable of, the cruelty a leaderless band of _thugs_ were capable of… But warlord brothers with a fleet of 19 ships and a vendetta? It could be catastrophic for Wessex. Aethelwold had made no moves, that I knew of, to side with the Danes. But watching him in that moment, I had to wonder if he’d actually fight for Alfred. Did he have no _loyalty_? 

 

“With that look on your face, how can we tell whose side you’re on, _Aethelwold_?” I sniped. 

 

This was the first time I’d addressed him directly. Surprise washed over his face, quickly followed by a smirk. “The girl does speak! With barbed words and veiled threats.” 

 

“Oh, you’ll know if I threaten you. There’ll be nothing _veiled_ about it.” 

 

“First thin I saw Adeline do was run a man through.” Finan pitched in, arms still folded across his chest. “Doubtin her would be foolish.” His words were sincere but there was a lightness to his tone, too - he was supporting me, while trying to take the tension down a notch.

 

Aethelwold snorted, actually having the _nerve_ to let out a derisive little laugh. Blood that’d begun to simmer when he’d called me _girl_ boiled. A firm hand shot down to encircle my wrist, halting my fingers’ journey as they skimmed across my knife-handle. I didn’t need to look to know it was Finan. 

 

I had no intention of actually _hurting_ the pillock. I’m sure Finan knew that. But losing my temper and drawing a weapon when surrounded by dozens of on-edge warriors… _bad idea._ I saw that _now_. Luckily the Irishman had acted, while I’d been too frustrated to properly take stock of the situation. 

 

“Relax,” he muttered, voice low. 

 

His thumb brushed back and forth, dipping under the curve of my arm just enough to brush the sensitive skin there. He only held my wrist for a moment, before loosening his hold. Acting on impulse, I abandoned the knife and chased his fingers with my own, catching them, still out of view under the table, and lacing them with mine. 

 

_How the hell is that playing it cool, you blithering idiot?_

 

I stopped worrying about that when I felt the answering pressure of a gentle squeeze. 

 

The evening dragged on, and I think the anticipation began to get to us all. I felt restless, and wanted nothing more than to take a walk outside and clear my head. I wanted to walk until I could see my breath puffing before my face, until someone called me to hear the wisdom of this corpse. But that wasn’t safe, so I waited with the men until _finally_ it was time. 

 

Eilaf took us to Bjorn long after nightfall. He was laid to rest in a Christian graveyard, though when we finally reached his grave there was nothing Christian about it. An animal skull  mounted upon a staff had been thrust into the earth to make the place. The only source of light was the flickering torches, dancing flames that couldn’t keep still - were they trying to escape?

 

A thief was sacrificed to summon Bjorn. I disagreed vehemently - death, for stealing food his family were in dire need of? But it didn’t matter that my morals were often out of sync with this brutal world -  I was just Adeline, a peasant girl with friends who’d taught her to wield a sword. I had _no_ sway in Wessex and _less_ than none here in the Danelaw. There were times where I felt I could help by speaking out, and then I _always_ did. This was not one of those times. I could do no more than watch in silence as his throat was opened and his lifeblood drained away.

 

With a hacking of lungs and a crumbling of dirt, Bjorn rose from the earth. A great mane of tangled hair was thrown forwards by his hunched stance, obscuring his face. His clothes were in an equally sorry state: frayed and torn, more soil than fabric. He looked frail and unsteady, but when he straightened to address Uhtred his voice was clear. 

 

“Lord Uhtred. I see you now. The gods have had their sacrifice and the brothers have tonight begun that which cannot be stopped. Lunden’s streets are red with saxon blood. You are to King. King of Mercia, King of Saxon and Dane. King of other Kings. You. Lord Uhtred. ” 

 

Uhtred and this man, this man who may have been raised from the _dead,_ stared at one another. Dark, soulful eyes met sunken, red-rimmed orbs cloaked by smoky skin. Then Bjorn staggered backwards and fell, landing on his back on the earth from whence he came. 

 

Silence. 

 

I understood why - I had no words. 

 

Common sense told me this was unlikely to be real. And yet… what we’d just witnessed had reached deep in my chest and left me _shaken._ Discomfort rippled down my spine and held on, unwilling to let me go. 

 

Eilaf’s voice split the cool air and had me jumping out of my skin. 

 

“Bury him.” 

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

With Aethelwold out of ear shot, Sihtric reported back with what he’d seen during our ride to Wintanceaster. The collective relief was palpable when he assured us it was a hoax. I buried a hand in Dorito’s unruly mane, drawing comfort from him. Bjorn had unbalanced me, had me questioning things I didn’t want to question. My relief at hearing it was all a ruse was immeasurable. 

 

Shortly after returning to Wintanceaster, Beocca and Thyra broke the magical news that they were getting married. Witnessing their ceremony felt like walking on sunshine. Their love for one another was honest and true, as rare as a four-leaf clover. They were swathed in a soft glow, not from the sunlight, but from the unrestrained happiness their bodies just couldn’t contain. As for Thyra, the radiant woman standing before us today was unrecognisable from the one I’d first met. My cheeks were hardly dry for a moment. 

 

Hild blessed their marriage with a prayer, beaming the whole time, before breaking into applause. The happy couple wrapped each other up in a tight hug the moment Hild finished their vows.

 

Sighing loudly, Aethelwold turned and left the room. I’d kind of forgotten he was there to be honest. 

 

“When are you going to tell him what Sihtric saw, that the ghost is a lie?” Finan asked, watching the nobleman’s retreat. 

 

“If I tell him he’ll talk and Sigefrid will hear. They must believe that we believe.” 

 

There was a mischief in Uhtred’s eyes - I think he was getting a kick out of keeping Aethelwold in the dark. 

 

“A little fear will keep him on his toes. So important in these dangerous times.” I grinned, walking over to the duo. 

 

“Ya concern for the man is _admirable,_ ” the Irishman drawled. 

 

“Indeed.” Uhtred agreed, raising an eyebrow. 

 

Shrugging, I looked between the pair before breaking into laughter. I never learnt how to do that refined, feminine giggle. Mine is closer to a cackle. Clapa and Sihtric joined us then, perhaps drawn by my alarming vocalisations, like the opposite of a siren call. 

 

Thyra and Beocca had finally stopped impersonating limpets and let each other go. Hild was already congratulating them, so I left the boys to it and joined her in sharing my well wishes. I tried to congratulate them, but my dumb, happy ass swept Thyra up into a hug before I’d finished speaking. I reckon she heard the ‘congratu’ but the ‘lations’ was a lost cause, swallowed by the shoulder of her dress. She responded to the affection without hesitation. 

 

“Is it not my day to cry?” she teased gently, small hand rubbing between my shoulder blades. 

 

“How inconsiderate of me,” I laughed through my merry sniffling. “I’ll try this again. Congratulations! I’m so happy for you I’m making a mess of your dress.” 

 

We split and Thyra glanced over at Beocca, who was discussing the latest trend in cross-necklaces with Hild (That’s bullshit, I have no idea what they were talking about). She looked at him as if he’d plucked the stars from the sky and handed them to her, one by one. 

 

“I wish to spend every day of my life at his side.” She turned back to me and her eyes were shining, too. 

 

_If I keep leaking like this I’m going to lose all my street cred._

 

The second wedding of the day joined Aethelflaed of Wessex with Aethelred of Mercia. Aethelwold wasn’t so quiet during this one. He was prattling on about those who’d journeyed here when he offhandedly referred to Aethelred as a ‘pretty, bread-pudding of a boy’. 

 

_AethelBread._

 

I had to bite my cheek pretty viciously to suppress my snort of laughter. I didn’t like the man, but his observation was as entertaining as it was accurate. 

 

“A fair description,” Finan agreed from my left. 

 

“Furthermore, he gets to hump the King’s daughter all night long.”

 

I didn’t find him so funny anymore. 

 

Gisela appeared to share my sentiments. “Aethelwold, you will be quiet.” 

 

“It is the truth,” he insisted, sounding entirely unrepentant for referring so crudely to a _young woman_ on her _wedding day._ It was disgusting. 

 

“You will be quiet,” Finan said. It wasn’t a suggestion.

 

“Or you will do what, Irishman?”

 

Oh, _fuck no._ Neither that patronising tone, nor the flinging of Finan’s heritage like an insult was going to fly. Aethelwold stood to one side, a pace in front of me. I aimed a sharp kick to his ankle. 

 

“ _Don’t_ address him like that,” I barked from the corner of my mouth. 

 

The Wintanceaster-man sneered and began to speak when Finan cut him off. 

 

“If you are not quiet, _right now_ , I will kill you in your sleep.” 

 

He looked straight ahead as he spoke, voice holding a flatness that, combined with the weight of his words, was intimidating. It lasted only a moment - Aethelwold flashed a smile that was all mocking and turned, and the severity in Finan’s face eased away - but I caught a glimpse of the imposing figure he could cut. I had no doubt he terrified enemies on the battlefield. Yet the hard set of his brow certainly didn’t instil fear in me. Heat pooled _low_ and I worked to focus on the ceremony instead. 

 

_Note to self - stay away from Finan when he’s threatening people. I can’t afford to keep replacing underwear._

 

Despite taking place on the same day, in the same city, the two weddings had little in common. While the first ceremony had felt intimate and personal, this was all pomp and circumstance. The King’s daughter couldn’t marry for love - this was a political alliance given frills. I could only hope she would find some happiness within it. I will admit that Baguette-Boy looked enthralled by Aethelflaed. That was hardly a feat, however. The soft fabric of her dress seemed to flow like water as she walked, the hues of pink and blue working wonderfully with her complexion. A crown of flowers sat atop her head. She was a vision, a queen of spring, and I think she took the breath away from each and every one of us. 

 

After the ceremony, Aethelwold managed to corner us for _more_ badgering. He stood before us as Team Coccham sat spread about the hall’s steps (I was laid out like a lizard on the top step, my tan is getting low). Finan wanted to thump him one, and none of were keen to restrain him. At this point, the noble’s attempts to rouse disloyalty were so frequent I had to wonder if he had a schedule to keep all his bullshit in check. 

 

_1pm; Start the day by bathing? Certainly not. This stale, week-old alcohol smell shan’t ferment on its own._

_3pm; Stir unrest_

_5pm; Acquire a bowl and trim my hair._

 

_I’m sorry. I’m being mean._

 

“In your purse, you know I speak the truth.”

 

_Oh fuck it, he’s a prick._

 

“Yes, hit him.” 

 

I rolled onto my stomach and opened my eyes to see Finan make a play of standing. Aethelwold almost shit himself. He recovered enough to continue babbling, but my attention was elsewhere. 

 

Another figure hovered behind him, twisting his hands anxiously and watching the proceedings. The man (boy? He still looked so young) was dressed in the plain clothing of a monk, his hair cut in their signature style. He tried to catch Uhtred’s attention more than once. 

 

Annoyed this newcomer was interrupting his recruitment drive, Aethelwold tried to dismiss him. The monk, however, paid him no mind, introducing himself as Osferth. He was Leofric’s nephew, a man Uhtred had fought beside when he first came to Wessex. He’d fallen at Ethandun, and the respect Uhtred held for him rang in his voice as he spoke. None of that mattered to Aethelwold, of course, who delighted in announcing that Osferth was Alfred’s bastard. 

 

“No, but I wish to join you, Lord,” the monk explained, looking uncomfortable with what had just been revealed. “Be by your side as my uncle was.” 

 

“No, we have no need of a monk.” Finan replied firmly. 

 

“As a warrior.” Osferth disagreed, standing equally firm in the face of obvious disapproval. 

 

Finan didn’t look convinced and Aethelwold, the smug bastard, was grinning like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week. Osferth asked once more to serve and Uhtred listened, contemplating his words. 

 

Pushing myself upright, I folded my legs beneath me and let my eyes trail over Osferth. Unarmed and soft mannered, he certainly didn’t _look_ like he was capable of killing. But hadn’t I been dealing with judgemental arseholes for the last three years? People who took one look at me and decided they knew all there was to know? Uhtred would make his choice irrespective of what anyone said - and anyway, influencing his decision wasn’t my intention. I just wanted the monk to know he had someone in his corner.

 

“I think he should have the chance to prove himself,” I pitched in. 

 

Osferth looked at me in surprise and I offered a friendly smile. Aethelwold rolled his eyes, but didn’t dignify me with a response, instead awaiting Uhtred’s verdict. 

 

Steapa appeared then to collect Uhtred, whose presence had been requested by the King. 

 

_Someone’s been a naughty boy._

 

“You. Find me again,” Uhtred bade the monk, depositing his weapons with Finan. “Bring a sword and lose your cross.” 

 

“Thank you, my lord. I-I will!”

 

Beaming, the monk scarpered, and Uhtred too left after Steapa. Finan began to play with a short dagger, and Aethelwold chose not to continue regaling us. 

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

Along with the Panini-Prat, we were bound for Lunden tomorrow. Alfred wanted negotiations with Erik and Sigefrid, hoped that through coin they could be persuaded to give up the city. If that couldn’t be done, at least an assessment of their numbers could be made. 

 

That was tomorrow, though. Tonight was for drinking. 

 

Many unsuccessful attempts at waving down a barmaid later, Sihtric and I surrendered to the inevitable and left to order a round of ales from the bar. Wintanceaster was buzzing, the taverns and inns packed to the rafters; these were the aftershocks of a royal wedding. Lent against the sticky bar-top and pleasantly tipsy, Sihtrc’s voice pulled me back to the moment. 

 

“I have news.” He was attempting to keep a straight face but failing miserably. “I asked Uhtred for his permission to marry Ealhswith, and he granted it!” 

 

“Oh my _god!”_ I shrieked, the sudden burst of emotion helping me reach a wavelength known only to dogs. I hauled him forward for a short, tight hug. “Will you send word to her?”

 

“No, this is something I would like to tell her myself.” 

 

Sihtric’s joy was visible. It radiated out into the night and chased away the shadows.  He loved Ealhswith, and she loved him. What was more beautiful than that?

 

“When should I expect kids, then?” I grinned. 

 

A tiny flush dusted his cheeks. “You know that is for the gods to decide.” 

 

“Soon, I guess? Honestly, it’s a miracle we haven’t already been blessed. You two do _not_ mess around. Have you broken any furniture yet?”

 

My friend turned into a tomato and I cackled. 

 

“There is something else,” he began, once his cheeks had cooled. He hesitated and I nodded, humming encouragingly to coax him into speaking. “I am not my father.” He paused again, gaze somewhere far away, before turning back to me. There was a fiery determination in his eyes. “I will be a _better_ man. He did not treasure my mother as he should have. She should have been his greatest pride, but he used her and left her. I will _never_ abandon Eahlswith, or any children we are blessed with.” 

 

Our tray of drinks were deposited before us and I handed the barmaid her coin. Wordlessly, we each took a mug, then a hearty pull from that mug. Kjartan the Cruel had a way of dealing damage to a soul that marked you forever. He was the worst of us, and didn’t deserve to be mentioned in the same _breath_ as Sihtric. 

 

“He wasn’t worthy of calling either of you his anything. That man was a _monster_.”

 

Sihtric’s grip on his ale tightened, knuckles white. “Yes, he was.”

 

“You’re _not_ his son. You’re hers, and I know you’ll give Ealhswith the _world._ You make your mother proud, Sihtric.” 

 

“Her name was Elflaed. She raised me alone, and there was no stronger, kinder woman to be found.” His voice softened as he spoke. I imagined his mother was his fondest memory of childhood. 

 

I swallowed past the lump of emotion in my throat, easing his clenched fist gently with my fingers. I raised my ale. “We should celebrate this with her. To Elflaed!”

 

_And there in the distance is my street cred, rapidly fleeing the scene._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in the show the thief is seen in a cage in Eilaf’s hall, where Uhtred asks Haesten about him. I’ve chosen to have him kept somewhere else out of sight. This is a character development choice that will become apparent at a later date. Also… Ealhswith lives in Wintanceaster in the show, whereas I have her living in Coccham. My only reasoning here is that I adore her and Sihtric, and I wanted them to live their best lives together, sooner. I’m soppy as hell, okay? 
> 
> Side note - I'm branching out into the wonderful fanfic worlds of Vikings and the MCU. I'll be posting anything I write on my tumblr (medievalfangirl) as well as here on ao3! It's so exciting to have new sandboxes to play in :)
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this one! 
> 
> Until next time loves.


	19. How Long Do I Have To Wait Until Someone Founds Ann Summers?

We arrived at the notoriously dangerous city of Lunden the next day. Walking through the town was absolutely surreal. I’d visited modern day London a few times, and here I was, quite possibly retracing my steps… a millennia earlier? We passed through the shadows cast by elegant stone archways, and out into a heaving street. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the people as the bustled about. One day this would be the capital of England, a country that wasn’t even formed. It all made my head  _ spin. _

 

Or maybe the spinning came from the Lundener I just collided with? I’d knocked his basket of fish from his hands, so I bent to help him gather them, apologising profusely. 

 

“Distracted?” Clapa asked after I’d jogged to catch up.

 

Sticking my tongue out, I wiped some of the wet fish juice on his arm. He grumbled and my laughter was drowned out by the clamoring in the streets. This place was  _ alive _ , bursting at the seams like nowhere I’d seen since the present. It was an impressive patchwork of people: Saxon, Dane, everything in between, and tribes I couldn’t name. 

 

The buoyant awe Lunden inspired was ripped away as we rounded the next bend. A man had been crucified, the cross standing tall under the last archway. I choked on my breath and took a quick step back. 

 

“God preserve us.”

 

That was the Aethelred, sounding as horrified as I felt. 

 

“It is just a death.”

 

And that was Finan, offering cool reassurance. He’d seen and lived through so much, it was hardly surprising. But I could think of nothing but the drawn-out agony that man had suffered. 

 

It wasn’t until Clapa nudged my shoulder that I moved to follow the others. Beyond the archway the space opened up into an expansive courtyard, which was connected to another street on the far side. Awaiting us near the center were two imposing Northmen. They shared a loaded look, before the darker hair one stepped forward. Were these the famed brothers, Erik and Sigefrid? 

 

“Uhtred Ragnarson. The future King of Mercia! Welcome to Lunden, your new home should you want it.” 

 

“Sigefrid. I thought you might want to kill me still.”

 

That would be a yes, then. 

 

“Oh, for a long time I did. But then I grew to like my new hand. Though I have to be careful when wiping my arse!”

 

He brandished the replacement hand he’d built. It was wooden, crafted to the shape of a long dagger and studded with barbs. Even the wrist attachment was spiked. Erik laughed along with his brother, though Haesten didn’t look so amused. Behind their oath-man I saw more crosses, each with a priest bound and knelt before it. One poor soul had already been nailed on, reduced to occasional twitches and groans. Again I tasted the bitter helplessness I was becoming so acquainted with. This was so terribly, horribly wrong. 

 

Uhtred greeted Erik next, seeming more at ease with this brother. And then Aethelred was introduced, and things rapidly went downhill. The Sourdough-Simpleton dived in headfirst and asked the price of their retreat. But the brothers played with him, requesting Aethelflaed in return for the surrender of Lunden. They had no intentions of treating with this Saxon man, a man they neither knew nor respected. Speaking up before it got ugly, Uhtred suggested we drink and  _ then _ talk. 

 

We moved to a small yard and I made good on the promise of ale. Beverage in hand I sat on the edge of the table, listening closely.  

 

“Can you guarantee Ragnar, and all the men he commands?” Erik was direct, having no care for the company we were in. “Are you with us?”

 

“I’m here.” Uhtred countered, tone and expression void of feeling. 

 

“Yes, but are you here for Alfred or yourself or us?”

 

“Ragnar’s in the North. It would take some time for news to reach time, more time for him to decide. I guarantee nothing, Lord.” he shrugged, turning towards the ale himself. He’d given nothing away, toeing the line between the two factions -  _ smart.  _ “Your prisoners are from where?”

 

The prisoners were priests sent by Aethelstan, the converted Northman previously known as Guthrum, to try for peace. The brothers were still furious over Guthrum’s betrayal of their faith, so very little discussion had taken place. As we’d seen for ourselves they’d opted for more violent methods. 

 

“It is Sigefrid’s game,” Erik explained lightly, shrugging in a what-can-you-do? kind of way. 

 

“I do not understand how it kills a man.” Sigefrid continued, confused. 

 

I’d been sat barely two minutes and already I was on my feet, draining my ale in one and returning to the table to refill my cup. They were acting as if this was  _ normal. _ As if this wasn’t  _ fucking psychopathic.  _ They were discussing the torturous deaths of innocent people, all to sake this man’s morbid curiosity. With no more care than you would _ the changing seasons _ . 

 

Finan explained the slow, cruel death a cross granted, perhaps in the hope he could quench the Dane’s curiosity. Uhtred too didn’t favour crucifixion, championing the idea of a fight, just as the Romans had done in the square in days long past. He even suggested letting him fight for his freedom. 

 

Sigefrid stood quickly, growling  _ “Why?” _

 

From my peripheral I saw Clapa’s hand tighten around his axe. I swallowed, sliding down from the table so I was ready to move. 

 

“I’d rather watch him spill his guts than nailed to a piece of wood. Where’s the fun in that?” Uhtred challenged. Was Uhtred trying to secure a faster death for the priest?

 

Sigefrid squared up to him, clearly trying to decipher his motives, too. His stance  _ screamed  _ danger. You could cut the air with a knife, and I-

 

Laughter. 

 

The darker brother clapped Uhtred’s shoulder before dashing outside, shouting about being entertained. Just like that the threatening aura that had settled across the room evaporated. Still, I was wary. He was unpredictable and sadistic, a beast who’d never be tamed. 

 

Once more we spilled out into the courtyard, joining the gathering crowd around the tiled square. Clutching his weapons with a novice’s grip, the priest at least had spirit, declaring his intention to kill Sigefrid’s warrior, Boltan. But the opponents were night and day. Arrogance oozing from every syllable, the young Dane turned to the brothers, asking to be spared from such a trial. Laughter rang around the court. Then he turned sharply, eager and frothing at the bit as he mock-swung at the holy man. The priest ducked low, raising his shield with a shaking arm. He looked like the last autumn leaf clinging to a branch, a futile fight against the coming winter. 

 

“This isn’t _ right,”  _ I hissed. “ _ Uhtred.  _ He doesn’t stand a chance.” 

 

Coccham’s Lord turned his head, so his quiet voice would carry through the cacophony. “Watch. Trust me.” 

 

Grinding my teeth, the injustice and cruelty of it all hanging over me like a storm, I watched as the priest was knocked from the square. The crowd pushed the poor man back towards his death, laughing and jeering. I wanted to jump in so  _ badly…  _ but I  _ did  _ trust Uhtred. Because no matter how accustomed he was to brutality, so unlike myself, I trusted he wasn’t entirely jaded. I trusted that he wouldn’t let this man be murdered for entertainment. Boltan attacked again and this time knocked him to the floor. To the tune of a chanting crowd and Sigefrid’s cries of ‘finish him!’, the priest stood. He looked a beaten man.

 

Then in a series of moves that staggered us all, the priest ducked around his opponent’s defenses. He was fast and nimble. Now he was fighting to the best of his ability, and made a mockery of his Boltan’s form. He had his sword to his throat in seconds.

 

_ Dude could give M. Night Shyamalan a run for his money with plot-twists like that.  _

 

Scattered cheers erupted, much of the audience too stunned to react either way. We had no such problem. Clapa clapped (I swear I’m funny) loudly, cheering his approval of the result. 

 

“Get your soggy arse on the first ship back to Denmark, dickhead!” I hollered, grin tugging up to my ears. 

 

“If all your men fight like this, Alfred will have no trouble throwing you out of Lunden.”   
  


_ He trash talks better than you. Speak to him and learn his methods.  _

 

By baiting his opponent and using his arrogance against him, this man, who I later learned was named Father Pyrlig, earned his freedom. He returned to Wintanceaster with us. It was Erik who granted it, spitting the title of ‘priest’ at him like it tasted sour. Perhaps it did - victory is sweet after all. After such a wonderful turn of events, you could have been fooled into thinking our trip was a success. It wasn't. The brothers wouldn’t give up Lunden for any price. 

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

It seemed our fate to be constantly on the move. After our unsuccessful negotiation attempts at Lunden, we returned to Wintanceaster. Uhtred, the Milkloaf-Moron and Aldhelm relayed the details to the King. He’d questioned Uhtred on the brothers name for him, ‘King of Mercia’, and Uhtred had been his usual evasive self, swearing his loyalty, without offering an explanation for the nickname. He’d also indirectly called the monarch a weasel. This had culminated in Uhtred’s dismissal,  _ before  _ plans for the siege of Lunden had been set. Odda the Elder had sought Uhtred out later at The Two Cranes Inn. He was the bearer of bad news - we were on the eve of war, yet Uhtred was asked to return to Coccham.  

 

Bitter and banished, we left the next day.

 

However, we weren’t left to stew for long. The river brought us guests within the week: the new Lord and Lady of Mercia, their entourage, Steapa, Thyra and Beocca. I was working in the stables and couldn’t greet them, though I joined everyone in the hall that evening for discussion. 

 

Aethelred bore word from the King. Uhtred paced on the level above us, taking in the words thoughtfully. The warriors of Coccham and her visitors were scattered about the lower level, some taking seats at the feasting table, others quenching their thirst with ale or watching, idly handling their weapons. I stood to one side of the table, leant against one of the curved beams that supported the roof, arms crossed over my chest. There was less tension pulling at the air than there’d been at Lunden, or Eilaf’s Hall, but that didn’t mean the mood was relaxed. An undercurrent of nervous anticipation flowed through the ground, attaching itself to the soles of our feet. 

 

That bubbling energy came to a head for the first time when Thyra stormed from the room. Aethelflaed would travel to battle with us, and her husband had been smugly assuring us all of his abilities to keep her safe. Aldhelm noticed her rapid exit. Cooler, more observant and less pompous than his Lord, it seemed little escaped his notice. I watched her fleeing form with concern. I wanted to go after her, but at that moment Uhtred descended the steps, his contemplation over. 

 

“Uhtred, has the King written that when the siege of Lunden begins, I am to be first up the ladder? It is after all, something you would do.” 

 

Aethelwold was ignored, save for the long-suffering sigh Steapa sent his way. 

 

“You accept that I am in charge… of all men?” Aethelred asked. 

 

“It is the King’s wish,” Uhtred dropped the rolled-up letter onto the table. 

 

He accepted it, but he certainly didn’t like. None of us did. Uhtred was a seasoned warrior and an experienced commander of men. He’d killed the great Northman Ubba, fought at Ethandun, and masterminded the siege of Dunholm. Lunden was of great strategic advantage - from there, the brothers could halt the flow of supplies down the Thames and put pressure on all of Wessex. Not to mention, all of our lives were at stake. And Alfred was putting the untested, unproven, Doughy-Doofus in command? It was  _ ridiculous.  _

 

“It is,” said-doofus confirmed. 

 

_ Thanks for agreeing with me, bastard.  _

 

“Oh  _ dear _ ,” Aethelwold sneered. 

 

I pushed myself upright, ripping my knife from my belt. I stalked towards the noble and slammed the weapon into the wooden bench he sat on. Incensed, his head whipped up and narrowed eyes met mine. Oh, how  _ intimidating _ he thought that made him. In him I saw a child, trying to make his petulance look threatening. 

 

“Have you lost your  _ senses _ ?”

 

“There was a bug.” I replied, giving him a sweet smile. “Oh hold on, it’s right…” I pulled the dagger free and struck a knot of wood, much closer this time. He flinched. “...there!”

 

“You are  _ wild. _ ”

 

“I’d like to think so,” I smiled serenely, wrenching my knife free. 

 

_ Surely no one would mind if I just… slipped. And stabbed him in the balls.  _

 

To Aethelwold’s right, Sihtric sighed. I’m  _ sure  _ I saw a smile he wouldn’t allow to form dancing at his mouth. I walked back to my original leaning-spot, and once there began to pick at the crusted dirt beneath my thumbnail. Maybe if I blunted the knife enough, I could use it on Aethelwold’s hair? I can’t imagine anything sharp was used to create that absolute  _ disaster.  _

 

Aethelred coughed obnoxiously (yes, that’s possible. I didn’t think so either but this tit managed it) before addressing Uhtred once more. “You are with us?” 

 

“Why would I not be? I am an Ealdorman of Wessex.”

 

“Alfred has decided to give you this one last chance.”

 

Uhtred had taken hold of a sword and swung it with a flourish. He gave Aethelred a  _ look,  _ ignoring his immature taunt. “Do you have a plan?”

 

“Together we will travel down river, meet with the armies of Mercia and Wessex, make camp a short distance from Lunden.”   
  


_ A campsite. Lovely. Perhaps a plan with a little violence? I doubt we can shoo Erik and Sigefrid away by breaking the rules: loud music after 11pm, dogs off their leads and a smokey BBQ right next to our neighbour’s tent.  _

 

“Do you have a plan of  _ attack _ ?” Uhtred stressed. 

 

“Yes,” Aethelred replied tersely. As if  _ he  _ was the one done with this situation. “It is not too dissimilar from your plan. You will attack the north gate with your own men. Once your assault is underway I shall attack from the marshes with the main army.”

 

“And how will you know my assault is underway?”   
  


“I will know.”

 

“You will know?” Uhtred scoffed, throwing his sword back to Finan. 

 

The Irishman had spent much of the discussion attempting to splinter a shield with a spear. Maybe he was pretending it was Aethelred’s head?

 

“Uhtred, do not doubt me. I want this victory. Lunden belongs to  _ Mercia  _ and I am _ Lord  _ of Mercia. I will go with every man at my disposal to reclaim what is mine.” 

 

He missed the mark of sincerity by a mile. He sounded possessive and desperate, and there was nothing convincing about his self-proclaimed confidence. 

 

Uhtred shrugged nonchalantly, looking equally unmoved by the prick’s attempt at an impassioned speech. “Good.” 

 

Speaking up the moment there was an opening, Steapa insisted he was with Uhtred. I swallowed my laughter, biting my lip - Alfred’s man had wasted no time in making it clear where  _ his  _ faith lay. Aethelwold quickly declared he would follow Uhtred, closely behind Steapa. This time I snorted loudly, unable to hold in my laughter. Like rats abandoning a sinking ship. 

 

“Your bravery knows no beginning, Aethelwold.” Aldhelm remarked. “A toast! To the Mercians who died for Wessex at Ethandun. And to the men of essex who shall fight for Mercia at Lunden. To allies.”   
  


This had begun that day Aethelwold sat in Uhtred’s hall, whispering about a talking corpse. And now like a game of chess the pieces were set, all eyes on the next square - Lunden.

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

Preparations were made with great haste, and the men of Coccham were called to arms. Word had been sent to Lord Elmer of Balbury, the burh Uhtred has aided in its infancy, and their contingent would meet us on the road. They would join our assault on the north gate. As soon as the pieces were in place, we departed. 

 

We’d been travelling for around an hour, deep into dense woodland, when something caught my eye. And by something, I mean that bloody plant that had distracted me and led to forest nudity, months ago on the return trip from Balbury. The fucker wasn’t going to escape my clutches again. 

 

Dorito and I were riding alongside Finan (a strategic decision, that man has a  _ killer  _ side profile), so I roped him into my scheme. 

 

“I need your help.”   
  


“Do ya now?” Finan remarked dryly. He was watching me with the amused kind of indulgence you’d give a child before they do something dumb. He knew me well. 

 

“Yep. You’re not my first choice,”  _ blatant lie  _ “but I suppose you’ll do.” 

 

“Ya honour me.”

 

That was sarcasm, teasing, but I found my thoughts wandering. It was his fault. The natural confidence with which he held himself, confidence that never felt overbearing, his charisma, his  _ accent…  _ It was everything about him. He made it hard to keep my thoughts PG. 

 

The smooth contours of his face were still arranged into a relaxed smile, and I took a moment to appreciate how  _ ridiculously  _ good it looked on him. I dropped my eyes to take him in: supple leather armour that stretched across a broad chest and shoulders, matching elbow rings, sturdy wrist-guards covering lithe muscle, and tools of death strapped to his waist. A beautiful juxtaposition, happiness and violence walking hand in hand. 

 

Finishing my scrutiny I looked up, and with a little thrill I realised the Irishman been watching  _ me  _ watching  _ him. Good.  _ I dismounted neatly, moving around Dorito’s head until I was walking with my horse on one side, and his on the other. I gave the bay’s shoulder a pat, feeling the smooth hair beneath my palm, before resting my hand on the ankle of his boot. Our eyes were still locked. 

 

“This isn’t what me honouring you would look like.” 

 

A tiny flicker of surprise passed over his face, so fast it was almost lost. But I caught the slight parting of lips, and found it was a look I’d quite like to draw out again. Of course, he was too sharp to be thrown for long. 

 

Body angled forwards, arms crossed over the saddle’s front he leant down to me, eyes roguish. “No? What  _ would  _ that look like?” 

 

With a voice as rich as the finest Peruvian chocolate, eyes like dark honey, how was I supposed to resist him?  _ Fuck,  _ sometimes I just wanted to grab a hold of the man and find out how he tasted. 

 

“I haven’t decided yet,” I smiled with coy nonchalance, adding a small shoulder shrug for effect. 

 

_ You’re lying again.  _

 

I had to sound like I’d barely given it a thought, had to play along… to hide how he was in  _ all  _ of my thoughts. In fact, Finan was so thoroughly distracting we’d already walked past the patch of plants I’d seen.  _ Shit.  _ I didn’t want to lose them completely so I brandished Dorito’s reigns at the warrior before he could say anything else. 

“Hold him for me? I need to go and get something.” 

 

Finan looked at me like I’d grown another head, whether from my odd request or whiplash-inducing change of topic, I don’t know. He slowly did as I asked. “What could ya  _ possibly  _ need out here?” 

 

I was feeling playful and silly, exhilarated and running high on serotonin, okay? Besides. It’s not like anyone would  _ understand _ . 

 

“A vibrator! Coccham is sorely lacking and I’m just _sore._ ” 

 

Confusion caused, I ducked under Dorito’s head and made a run the mystery plantlife. It was easy enough to grab a few handfuls and I worked quickly, taking what I could carry before turning and sprinting back. A rock grabbed my foot as I ran past and the world tilted. I windmilled frantically, taking fast, long strides and narrowly avoiding a nosedive.

 

_ Well done o mighty seductress.  _

 

Upon reaching Dorito I stuffed the woe-causing flora into my saddlebag. I halted him for a moment, jumped back on and set off again, trotting a few strides to catch up with Finan. 

 

“Did I see  _ weeds _ in ya hand?”

 

I wasn’t sure what they were, but they jogged some distant memory, and I was determined to uncover it. 

 

“Can’t keep your eyes off me?” I fired back, diverting the conversation with a silly, over-exaggerated wink. 

 

“Woman, trouble finds ya like nothin else,” he shook his head ruefully, smiling wide. “If I take my eyes off ya, anythin could happen.”

 

“Then don’t.”

 

The quiet words fell unbidden from my mouth and the mood shifted with a _snap._ The airy feeling our teasing had brought on fell away, mingling with the dirt below our horses hooves. I couldn’t dwell though, not on the new heaviness of the air or my thoughtless slip up. I was captured. I know I mention this man’s eyes a lot - I _know_ I sound like a broken record. But he has this way of making the rest of the world fall away. It feels like there is nothing beyond you, him, the way he’s looking at you, and how _alive_ that makes you feel. 

 

Right now those hypnotic brown eyes were earnest and stripped of pretense. He nodded once, his tone a touch softer than I was used to. “As you wish.”

 

The air I’d been breathing hitched in my throat. Colour rushed to my cheeks, like each tiny vein was racing to see which could fill with blood and flush my skin first. I think the blood vessels beneath my cheeks won, if the tingling there was an indication. I bit my lip against a giant grin, trying not to look like a total wet blanket… when we rounded a corner, to see the battlements of Lunden piercing the skyline. The fluttering in my chest was a stark contrast to the ominous dread those walls conjured. We rode towards battle and an uncertain future. Having a little experience did  _ nothing  _ to banish the fear from my bones. Now, the smile I’d been warring with dropped without effort. 

 

“We can’t be far from Lunden. You may struggle once the fighting starts.” 

 

It was a pathetic attempt at humour and my voice fell flat. My worry was a storm cloud against a perfect sky, plain to see in my expression.

 

“Adeline.” I tore my eyes from the looming horizon to look back at him. He radiated warmth in a way that surpassed the physical plane. It was his aura, his entire _being_. “There is no need for fear. You’re a capable warrior, and ya know I would _never_ let ya fall.” 

 

He stated it like an indisputable fact. Like we weren’t just two people caught in the wheels of the world. Like we could really control our destinies. 

 

Swallowing thickly, I nodded, trying to summon words to my tongue for a reply. What did you  _ say  _ to that? The right words wouldn’t come, so I settled for a soft-spoken remark instead. “I’ll try not to fall, either.”

 

Finan’s lips quirked into a little smirk. “Aye, that would help.” 

 

Infectious smile caught, I found myself mirroring his expression. A rush of affection raced through my veins, and I found the words I needed. 

 

“We both know you don’t need assurances, certainly not from me. You can handle yourself. But I’m going to swear anyway. I won’t let anything happen to you. I  _ won’t. _ ” 

 

I almost startled  _ myself _ with the fierce edge my voice had taken on. I meant those words with every fibre of my being, and I needed him to know that. 

 

Finan reached over to tug on Dorito’s reigns, smoothly steering him until our horses were close, our calves brushing in time with their gait. “I know ya won’t.” His hand fell from the bridle and came to rest on my knee. Calloused fingertips rubbed large, lazy circles. 

  
There wasn’t a shred of doubt in his voice. And just like that, I understood how I was going to face this. We’d look after  _ each other.  _ Despite the ease with which he’d uncovered my trepidation, despite him knowing how scared I was, I didn’t feel vulnerable. I felt  _ strong.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My spellcheck keeps trying to turn Sigefrid into 'fridge' and it's never not going to be funny to me. 
> 
> Pushing the time with this one huh. As of posting, in my timezone, the weekend end in 50 minutes. Phew! Life is a little crazy right now, but it's the good kind of crazy. It just means I'm very busy. But writing is my downtime, it's how I unwind, and I'm having the most fun in the world writing this fic and getting to know you all. The bi-weekly updates will continue :)
> 
> As ever, please do let me know what you thought! Its so inspiring. 
> 
> Until next time loves!


	20. The Mysterious Case of The Missing Balls

Aethelred’s campsite was located about a mile from the city, nestled in a woodland clearing. I’d tucked myself away in a quiet corner, sharpening my sword against a whetstone. This battle would pit two great forces against one another. The stakes were high, and the death toll would be horrendous. I felt sick to my stomach. 

 

All too soon calls to arms echoed through the camp, twisting down the winding paths between tents to reach me. In no time we were on the move, closing in on the town, racing through the abandoned market and up to the gates. My heart was racing too, sending adrenaline rocketing through my veins. I was terrified (though that word is hardly enough to describe the feeling of hurtling towards your own mortality). But that wouldn’t stop me. I could  _ do this.  _

 

Lining up against the outer walls, we pressed ourselves as tightly as we could to the wood (I understand calling innuendo bingo would be inappropriate, so I kept that one internal), hoping to remain out of sight. Across on the other side of the gates, Finan stepped out. My heart leapt to my throat at seeing him in such a vulnerable position. He found me in the mass of warriors, the serious set of his face easing just enough to let the familiar light shine in his eyes. I wasn’t faking the strong, determined smile I gave him. He inspired such belief in me that the misplaced expression felt natural. I believed in myself, I believed in him, and I believed in  _ us.  _

 

Finan kicked the gate, and it swung open lazily before him. The pressure in my chest loosened. 

 

“It’s open,” he stated, mystified.

 

_ I didn’t realise the siegees were supposed to just… let the siegers in. Someone should tell the men of Rohan, they kept Isenguard at bay for 5 days and 5 nights. How rude.  _

 

“Do you see a guard?”   
  


“ _ None.  _ I see a trap.” 

 

Uhtred raised an eyebrow, shrugged, and stalked forward into the city. It was the kind of cocky, devil-may-care bravery I’d heard talk of before. If the stories were true, he’d jumped the enemy shieldwall at Ethandun to hack the Danes apart like a madman. The forces of Wessex had followed, though it was his decisive move that had broken the enemy line. Now I was getting a taste for myself. He was part crazy, part awe-inspiring, and we all followed him wordlessly. 

 

Aethelwold was the outlier of course, muttering under his breath as we moved through the gates. “Yes, of course, if it is a trap we should walk towards it.” 

 

_ The nasal whining makes him recognisable, with that helmet covering his oh-so-stylish updo. _

 

Finan shushed him with a smack to the shield as the noble walked past, and we filtered into Lunden. It couldn’t have been more different than last time I’d been here: deserted and eerily quiet, with the scent of smoke clinging to the air. A city that had felt like the center of this small world now felt like it lingered on the very edge. Hovering between life and death. As a group we made steady progress through the streets, swords atop our shields. Holding close to Finan and Sihtric, I kept a hawk-like watch, searching for any sign of movement in the narrow alleyways we passed. 

 

As we rounded the next corner we entered a familiar courtyard, and movement on the far side had us quickly forming a shield wall. The hammering of my heart was almost deafening, my mouth drier than parched grass in the height of summer. 

 

_ This is it.  _

 

Except it wasn’t. 

 

The men we were faced off against were Aethelred’s men. The Lord of Mercia broke through his shield wall and began to celebrate victory, ignoring Uhtred’s alarmed protests to stay in formation. The Coccham and Balbury contingent began to shift, anxious mutterings rippling through the men. This courtyard had high sides, stairs and elevated areas - it was  _ perfect  _ for an ambush. Darting along one of those very balconies, a scrawny man disappeared from sight almost as quickly as we spotted him. He left a great fire in his wake, roaring into life in its basin. Inky black smoke spiralled high above us. 

 

“Stand ready! It’s a signal!” Uhtred shouted. 

 

The nausea in my stomach intensified, settling in my gut and wrapping around my intestines. We were so  _ exposed  _ down here. Holding onto our weapons for dear life, sharp pieces of metal that would soon be the only thing keeping us from the reaper’s clutches. 

 

For a second time we were taken for fools. 

 

“It’s a signal that can be seen from a mile or more,” Uhtred began, before worry engulfed his face. “Aethelred!  _ Aethelred!” _

 

Frantic and distracted, the Lord of Mercia heard nothing. Losing his patience entirely, Uhtred marched over, grabbed the man by his shoulders, and delivered two words with a horrifying finality. 

 

_ “The camp!”  _

 

The journey back to those who’d remained at camp passed in a dream-like haze of panic. All I remember is urging Dorito on, his galloping strides devouring the blurry ground below. Our worst fears became sickening reality when we reached the end of the clearing. 

 

Ripped tent folds flapped in the breeze, the same breeze that sent the taste death our way. Our view was of upturned pots, abandoned weapons and shattered shields. Mangled bodies lay scattered, the blood that should have coursed through their veins soaking their clothes and seeping into the earth. The battle of Lunden had never come to pass. Instead, a small group of non-fighting folk had been slaughtered. 

 

“Please God, let this not be true” Beocca prayed, sliding from his horse and walking towards the camp slowly, as if in a trance. He snapped out of it not a moment later however, beginning to walk with purpose, his voice taking on a desperate tone as he called out for Thyra. 

 

Around me others were dismounting and I followed suit, drawing my sword and joining Beocca. 

 

“Thyra?” I cried, setting off at a jog and weaving through the destroyed tents. “Thyra!”

 

A black, twisted kind of dread crept closer with each turn I took that failed to present my friend, alive. My hands, clasped so tightly around my sword the knuckles ached, trembled. 

Voices called for Aethelflaed too as we wandered the charred grass. Father Beocca was begging for Thyra to be alive,  sobbing now. Aethelred had a different air to him. The toasted-tithead was insisting that his wife couldn’t by dead, but with panic, not heartbreak. It had been his bloody idea to bring her. 

 

“Beocca!”

 

Thyra’s voice sliced through the air like sunshine through clouds. Head snapping up I saw her appear on the treeline, running for Beocca like a woman possessed. They collided and held on tight, unwilling to let the outside world in. She looked terrible - her red hair wayward and slicked to her forehead with sweat, her dress filthy. 

 

I drifted back towards the others, naturally gravitating to Finan’s side. He was watching the emotional reunion before us, but he must have noticed me fidgeting at his side. I felt his fingers on my wrist, skating across the paler skin underneath that hardly saw the sun. 

 

As delighted as we were to see Thyra, her appearing so dishevelled, and  _ alone,  _ raised new worry for Aethelflaed. Through quivering lips, the Dane explained that they’d been separated after fleeing the attack. The Northmen had taken Mercia’s Lady. I’d been right about this being a game of chess, but wrong about the Brothers’ next move. The target had never been the next square. It had been the queen. 

 

Only when we turned to leave, despondent, did Finan let my arm go. He did so slowly, and dare I say it… reluctantly. 

 

Instead of returning to Wintanceaster with the Mercian and Wessex men, we parted ways and made for Coccham. Uhtred didn’t want to stand before Alfred until he had something of value to say. He dispatched Sihtric and Rypere to spy at Beamfleot, to see if Aethelflaed was alive, and how she fared. 

 

Long after the flames of our fires had waned and the men had bedded down, our infiltrators were ready to leave. Bound for the lion’s den. I’d prepared their horses for travel and now Sihtric and I stood by his bay, neither of us quite sure what to say. Hopefully, they’d blend in with the Danish warriors without trouble. But they were riding into the open arms of men who crucified others for fun. Asking me not to worry was an exercise in futility. After a brief, tight hug, I pulled my dagger from my belt and handed it to Sihtric. 

 

Head cocked slightly, he regarded me with confusion. “Is this not the dagger Thyra gave you?” 

 

“Yes. She gave it to me because she wanted her friend to be safe. I’m doing the same.” I took a deep breath, schooling my features away from melancholy. “Bring it back without a scratch, you hear me?”  

 

“I am to spy, not to fight,” he reminded. 

 

His actions contradicted his words, however, as he accepted the weapon and tucked it into his belt. 

 

“I’ll see you soon, then?” I smiled tightly. I’d tried for a statement of confidence and ended up with a question of uncertainty. 

 

Swingingly nimbly up onto his steed the Dane assured me I would. He graced me with another reassuring smile before disappearing into the night, Rypere at his side. They were out of sight before earshot, the cadence of galloping hooves the loudest sound in the darkness.

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

After returning to Coccham we settled back into old routines. Everything had a sense of impermanence about it, though. On tender hooks we waited for Rypere to return with word of Aethelflaed. 

 

A few days passed, and the first clue to the Great-Plant-Mystery presented itself. I’d dreamt of home the night before, one of those panicked I’m-late-for-work dreams. I’d pulled up to the ID checkpoint outside my building, the Pharmaceutical HQ of Raven Corp., a corporation with fingers in every business sector’s pies. Security was as tight as you’d expect for such an organisation. I’d left my car for a random sniffer-dog search, and the security guard had winced before informing me I was naked.

 

I woke with my mind sparking, the dream the jump leads I needed to get the engine working.  I hadn’t thought about my old job in  _ years _ . I’d been a junior researcher, on a team investigating medicinal properties of plants from a newly discovered genus. This alone held little meaning - most modern painkillers are derived from the natural world, and Raven Co. Pharmaceutical was known for researching new possibilities. But those weeds stuffed in a knapsack under my bed? They were one of the species we’d been investigating, one of the only promising avenues, with potential pain-killing properties. 

 

I’d be starting from scratch with no data and the most rudimentary of equipment. But I’d be waiting until the 1880s for pain relief like aspirin or paracetamol, so it hardly mattered how long it took. I’d likely fail, but the possibility of success was worth the time-investment. Before you ask if the plant was safe to consume - _yes, of course it was._ I’d eaten as much as I could stomach last week, and _I’m_ still here. I _really_ wanted this to work. I was a mediocre fighter at best and I’d _never_ be on a level with Uhtred or Finan. Everyone has their own strengths and mine _used_ to be science. If I could pull this off I could really contribute something. It was also a nice distraction from the knowledge that Sihtric and Rypere were living with wolves. 

 

My days were full of stable-work and training, but my evenings were my own and that foul-smelling weed became my fixation. After a few weeks I’d gathered it (from a huge patch after a lengthy walk along the riverbank), ground it into powder (cavewoman chemistry - a bowl and a rock) and converted it into different forms (boiled into water and mixed into a paste for external application). Now I just needed a willing, pained subject. 

 

I nearly had one of my own making the very next evening. Or should I say  _ subjects.  _

 

Strolling the routine walk from the stables to Hild’s home at the end of a long day, I heard loud voices. The alehouse was around the next corner - clearly some men were well into their cups already. Then I heard their next words and stopped  _ dead.  _

 

“She may dress as a man but she  _ is  _ a woman. She fights like one. I have heard she rides like a whore, but I could not tell you.” 

 

That was Godwine’s voice. I recognised it from how he’d squealed when I put him on his arse training last week. I don’t think it’s narcissistic to assume he was talking about me - no other woman in Coccham regularly wore trousers, or trained with the guard. Searing fury raised its head like a mighty sea serpent from the deep. I rounded the street-corner, spotted Godwine and an unknown man, and stalked across the loose earth towards them.  

 

“Who the  _ fuck  _ do you think you are, to talk about me like that?” 

 

I couldn’t enjoy the way they stiffened before turning to face me. Nor the combination of shock and horror that dominated their faces. There was no room for anything but rage. 

 

“I…” Godwine began before trailing off, words failing him. I watched his adam’s apple bob in a gulp. 

 

“You  _ what _ ?” I barked, legs closing the distance between us in great, greedy strides. 

 

The man took an uncertain step back but smacked into the building at his rear. His expression was rather cautious considering he’s just demeaned my ability to fight. Slamming my hand into the plank beside his head I didn’t stop until I’d leant right into his space. 

 

“Do you get off on bad mouthing people, huh? I’m  _ sick of this _ ! I’ve been training with you all for  _ years.  _ I’m a warrior and I’m  _ not  _ a whore!” 

 

Godwine made no effort to remove my hand, watching me like I was some unpredictable, dangerous thing, that any movement would set off. He had no  _ fucking idea.  _

 

“Your agreement in Balbury is no secret, woman.” 

 

“ _ What _ agreement?” 

 

“With Lord Elmer’s man. How else could you have convinced him to speak in the Irishman’s defense?” Godwine stated it like a fact. He had the audacity to speak slowly, as if  _ I  _ was the one under the wrong impression. 

 

My jaw dropped. I just stared for a moment, struggling to form sentences around the acid bubbling up my throat and coating my tongue. I couldn’t  _ believe  _ it. And yet... That horrible, pessimistic little side of me wasn’t surprised at all. It was the same voice that told me these people would never accept me for who I was, and would always see the way I differed from them as a sin. Exactly how  _ many  _ people thought this was how things had gone down? 

 

I shook my head, a dark, cynical little laugh slipping from my lips.  “I didn’t use my body to convince Alhwald of anything _.  _ If you don’t understand how I could’ve talked him round, that’s fine. But  _ don’t  _ assume the limits of your intelligence apply to  _ me. _ ” 

 

Full of contempt Godwine scoffed, stepping out and around me. “Lies. I have nothing else to say to you.” 

 

_ But you had plenty to say  _ about  _ me, didn’t you? _

 

I spun and elbowed him sharply in the chest, stopping him in his tracks. I grabbed his shoulder for balance and used my momentum to deal a crippling knee to his balls. Air rushed through his teeth and he crumpled. I let his weight sag against me long enough only to snarl in his ear, “Fighting like a woman is a compliment, _ignorant pig_.” 

 

Then I stepped back, watching him pitch forward as the pain sapped the strength from his knees. With a parting glare to rival the intensity of the sun, I left him there. I too had nothing else to say.

 

I wish I could tell you that was the only time I heard the rumour. 

 

I overheard more than one set of Coccham folk discussing it in the alehouse. Each time I had to find something to keep my hands busy, gnawing on my lips to help me hold my tongue. I wanted to challenge every  _ single one of them.  _ But I’d already seen how my denial meant nothing. Some of these people had made up their minds about me the moment I arrived; I’d been a flurry of foreign words, living in unmarried sin with a man, swearing and drinking and never taking the time to pray. I didn’t dress, speak or behave appropriately. I refused to fit into any of the neat little boxes women were placed in, so I’d been shoved, kicking and screaming, into the only one they could imagine such a strange woman inhabiting. Everything I did was twisted to support the narrative they thought they knew. 

 

I kept to Hild’s home for most of my evenings - I was less likely to start a bar fight from there. But the hopeless nature of it was  _ infuriating _ . One night I was preparing dinner for Hild and myself, doing more simmering than the broth over the fire. I must have been thinking too loudly, because my housemate noticed the moment she sat down. 

 

“Are you going to tell me what’s been bothering you these last weeks?” 

 

I hadn’t been planning on it, no. But the words spilled forth like water from behind a broken dam - unstoppable. 

 

“You must have heard what they’re all saying. I don’t need to tell you,” I muttered, aggressively stirring the food. The spoon slapped against the side of the pan and a few drops landed on the back of my hand. I swore quietly, rubbing at the sore skin. 

 

“I’ve heard the ramblings of a few drunkards, yes.” 

 

I put the spoon down before my white knuckle grip splintered it. I turned to face Hild, spitting bitter words across the gap between us. “It’s the same shit all over again! Godwine has seen me train, he  _ knows me _ , and he thinks the only way I can achieve _ anything _ is by using my body!” 

 

“Adeline you have nothing to prove to  _ anyone,”  _ she began, her voice firm and her eyes gentle. She was my opposite, equally strong-willed, but her calm demeanor contrasted the anger rolling off of me in waves. I didn’t want it to be, beause this wasn’t fucking  _ fair  _ and I wanted to hold  _ on  _ to that outrage, but her manner was cooling. “Least of all the small number of fools who still think these things. You have worked hard to be here.” 

 

“I know,” I sighed, some of the wind leaving my sails. “And I’m proud of that. But sometimes I just… wish I knew how to gain their respect. Those who still don’t accept me.” 

 

“Be someone else entirely.”

 

Hild was never anything less than honest. 

 

“Not a chance,” I smiled ruefully.  

 

“ _ Good.  _ Someone is always going to disagree with you, whatever choice you make. You should  _ not  _ let that sway you.” 

 

I remembered telling Thyra something similar a long time ago, back when members of her community shunned her for her Danish blood. I’d told her those who wouldn’t accept her the way she was were irrelevant. 

 

Conflicting feelings tugged me in two directions. In part I agreed with Hild. I could never win everyone over and it was a waste of effort to try. No-one is universally liked (although Keanu Reeves is about as close as we’ll get, I think). But another part of me was still furious. Objecting to my admittedly irregular choice to fight was one thing. Spreading the word that I’d screwed my way here was entirely different _.  _ So despite my friend’s solid advice, I  _ still _ felt like I had something to prove. 

 

A great battle loomed on the horizon. We felt it’s coming on the air, expecting word from Rypere any day now. Let them see me fight in the mud alongside them and  _ then  _ claim I had nothing to offer save my body. If that wasn’t enough, then Hild was right.  _ Fuck them.  _

 

After that night, there was no time to dwell on the issue. Rypere brought word that Aethelflaed was alive the next morning, and being treated as well as could be expected for a hostage. I cornered him later. To my great relief he explained that Sihtric’s cover was still intact. 

 

This was the news Uhtred was waiting on, and we rode for the capital the following day. Joining us was the monk who’d approached us back in Wintanceaster - Osferth. Uhtred took point of course, flanked by Gisela and Finan. I rode a little further back (not too far thanks to Dorito’s ego, something that refused to wane no matter how old he was), and struck up a tentative conversation with the newcomer. 

 

We cleared the awkward introductions, and Osferth was polite enough to fill the equally awkward pause that followed. “I cannot place your accent. May I ask, where were you born?” 

 

_ Is ‘I cannot place you accent’ code for ‘You talk like an uneducated cave troll’? _

 

I snorted. Bless him for trying. “You can ask, but I can’t answer. I don’t remember where my home is.” 

 

“You don’t?”

 

“Nope. It happened after a head injury.” No need to tell the religious man I could be as cursed as the prospects of the dodos. “Tell me about yourself instead. What was growing up in a monastery like?”

 

“It was too quiet for a child. And far too lonely.” 

 

“Well, we’re in short supply of quiet here. You’ll never get a moment’s peace.” 

 

“I  _ think  _ that will be a nice change,” he smiled, pitching ‘think’ with enough teasing uncertainty to make me grin, too. “I expected as such. My Uncle Leofric said he never had a dull moment at Uhtred’s side.” 

 

“And you looked up to your uncle?”

 

“Very much. He would tell such stories of his adventures,” a longing smile tugged at his features, “all I wanted was to join him. Now I shall have to settle for fighting in his place."

 

Osferth was watching the horizon, eyebrows lowered over thoughtful eyes. His hands fiddled relentlessly with the reigns. His wistful tone made it clear how much he missed his uncle. But there was something in his intelligent eyes that shone, a longing for adventures of his own. He was sweet, yes, but it took a special sort of courage to leave behind a life of peace for one so violent. 

 

I was struggling for something to say. I’d just met this man - how sincere would he really find condolences from a near-stranger? Yet again, he came to the rescue. He gave me a small, self-deprecating smile. “Though I do not know  _ how _ to fight.” 

 

“Stick them with the pointy end," I advised, channeling my inner Jon Snow. “Or, ask Finan to teach you.” 

 

I went on to explain how Finan, Sihtric and Clapa had slowly transformed me from defenseless doughnut into fearsome filo. If they could do something with me, they could certainly get Osferth up to shape. I offered my own services, too, though I made it clear I was still learning. The monk seemed hesitant, questioning whether they’d do that for him, and I assured him they would. Uhtred had a penchant for picking up strays, and we all looked out for each other. 

 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. We’d lapsed into an easy quiet when Uhtred turned in the saddle, caught my eye and beckoned me forward. I parted with Osferth, nudged Dorito into a steady trot and wove through other riders. I aimed for the space Finan made at his side, and he twisted to watch my approach. I cocked my head a little, eyes flickering back and forth to Uhtred - wordlessly asking what was going on. The Irishman didn’t answer, shaking his head head with a knowing grin. 

 

Halting Dorito I looked to our leader, nerves knotting under my skin. He looked right back, face unreadable. 

 

“You know, my men fight best when uninjured.” 

 

_ Godwine’s nuts.  _

 

_ … _

 

_ That works as a curse, too. Which is handy because I’m running out.  _

 

“Would you believe me if I said he tripped, Lord?”

 

“No.”

 

He shot me down with authority, but his face told a different story. I saw amusement flickering in his eyes. And even if I hadn’t, even in the face of a bollocking, I could summon neither remorse or regret.  

 

“I was doing the man a favour,” I shrugged. “He’d lost his balls, calling me a whore when he thought I wouldn’t hear. I just helped him find them.” 

 

From Uhtred’s other side Gisela broke into pretty laughter. “You have done us a service, Adeline.” 

 

_ The Girl Squad _ _ TM _ _ have each other’s backs.  _

 

“Bastards or not, I do need  _ some  _ men to fight.”   
  


“You have them,” I assured Uhtred, gesturing behind us with a sweeping arc of my hand. “I only damaged one man’s pride. And possibly his ribs.”

 

“The count is at three.”

 

“ _ Three?” _

 

Before I could question further (had I sleep-punched someone?), Finan spoke up. 

 

“ _ Two _ , Lord.”

 

They shared a look over my head, years of friendship granting them a silent language I didn’t understand. Both were obviously entertained, and curiosity bubbled in my stomach. 

 

“Can someone tell us what’s going on?”

 

Gisela hummed her agreement. Uhtred didn’t acknowledge either of us, giving Finan a pointed look, indicating the final member of our little group speak. And speak he did, in that devilish way he had that just  _ spelled  _ trouble.  

 

“I heard similar talk in the alehouse one night. It pains me to waste good ale, but he needed a soakin. His friend, drunk as could be, took offense and tried to draw his sword. He didn’t get far.”

 

“So while I avoided the inns so I wouldn’t start a fight… you started a fight?”

 

“ _ Ended _ a fight,” he corrected. 

 

Sounding gloriously impenitent, looking it too with that crooked grin… he had me ducking my head, flushing and muttering some, mushy, incoherent crap. 

 

_ Roses and chocolates are  _ so  _ next millennium. Give me hurling alcohol and punching bitches, any day.  _

 

TLK TLK TLK 

 

On reaching Wintanceaster, our news of Lady Aethelflaed, a woman supposedly treasured, drew mixed reactions. Initially, nothing but relief. Then when Alfred laid out his intention to negotiate her release, that relief changed to concern. Not for the young woman held captive by the kingdom’s brutal enemies, but for their purses. Her status made her a prize worthy of the highest randsome. And those Lords, comfortable off of the backbreaking labour of their people, didn’t want to pay. 

 

However, none of them held claim to the throne. Alfred was King, and he ordered Aethelred and Uhtred to travel to Beamfleot and, once again, try to negotiate with Sigefrid and Erik. We left shortly. The assurance that surely _ , surely,  _ this trip wouldn’t be as futile as our last, was a warm blanket across our shoulders. 

 

_ Surely? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a hot minute since Adeline’s had to deal with this shit, huh? Each time it’s brought up I feel like she loses it a little more. I reblogged something on tumblr the other day. It was about writing something that heavily implies a plotline you didn’t know existed… yeah that’s what happened here. It’s okay though, I do know where I’m going… I just didn’t plan on going there initially. Characters really can take on minds of their own! 
> 
> I’m over on tumblr, @medievalfangirl, pop over and say hi! 
> 
> Shameless self-promo… I posted two pieces I wrote to celebrate follower milestones for some wonderful people on tumblr, for Pietro Maximoff (MCU) and Halfdan (Vikings), today. If that sounds like your kind of thing, they’re here on ao3 and tumblr too!
> 
> Let me know what you thought! 
> 
> Until next time loves.


	21. An Unappealing Sausage Fest

The journey to Beamfleot passed quickly and quietly, our occupied minds making for poor conversation. We were still a fair distance from the town when we were met by Haesten, who I strongly believe is part bear. As Uhtred and Finan had warned they would, they sought to humiliate us. It was on our feet we made the last leg of the journey, a sobering distance that added a little weight to our steps. Finally,  _ finally,  _ we rounded a corner to find a mighty gate. Through a tunnel of onlookers we approached the gate, fortifications stretching high either side, wrapping around the bulk of the city. On tired legs we passed into a courtyard, packed with warriors and citizens alike, a small central square the only ground bare of feet. Save the menacing figures of the Brothers of course, watching us approach with calculating calm. 

Sigefrid greeted us with a steely command, stony eyes leaving no room for negotiation. “You will all kneel.” 

 

_ And Aldhelm will crawl from Aethelred’s arse long enough to get some sun on that pasty face.  _

 

“Will we fuck,” I muttered, quietly, to avoid a morning-beheading.    


 

“We will not.” Uhtred rebuked. 

 

_ Same energy, bud.  _

 

“We have come here in peace and as equals. You’ve made us walk a good distance to meet you, that is respect enough.” 

 

Taunts were hurled across the divide, Sigefrid mocking Uhtred’s decision to stand with Alfred. I was listening, but watching the crowd intently. Amongst the sea of faces I saw Sihtric pressing forwards, expression stoic. His eyes found mine but I knew better than to acknowledge him in any way. Seeing him unharmed was enough, a spark of light in Beamfleot’s gloom. 

 

Shifting my attention back to the negotiations, I listened as Uhtred laid good foundations, downplaying the affection the King had for his daughter. Then of course Aethelred stepped in, demanding to see his wife. His desperation ripped up Uhtred’s groundwork. Incompetence was hardly unexpected when it came to the Flaccid Flatbread. What  _ no-one  _ expected was Erik’s reaction. 

 

“And if she is not well, what then? What will the pig’s arse do, fart?”  The teasing humour dropped from his features, leaving something grim behind. “Will you fight me? Will you fight my brother?”

 

Uhtred perked up, eyes intent on the exchange. He’d noticed too. 

 

Not a second later Erik had Aethelred on his knees, roaring “Kneel!” into his ear. Seeing the pompous prat put in his place would have been _marvellous_ in any other moment. But our situation was precarious at best, lethal at worst. The Northman was making _no_ effort to hide his desire to rip the Saxon limb from limb. If he killed him, there was little chance of any of us walking out of here. So I couldn’t enjoy this moment the way I dearly wanted to. 

 

Mercia’s Lord blustered, his attempts to threaten ringing hollow from his place in the dirt. He was ignored, and the crowd parted to reveal Aethelflaed. 

 

The Princess of Wessex looked a different woman to the one I’d seen on her wedding day. That morning she had shone with all the radiance of spring. Her fine dress had characterised her appearance - soft and pretty, fresh flowers in bloom. Today she was autumn. This experience had changed her, the passing of time stripping that falseness away as it did the colour from the leaves. The woman underneath had been unearthed; the real Aethelflaed, bedraggled but defiantly strong. 

 

I saw so much of myself, the things I strived to keep buried, in her crumpled clothes and pale face. For a few seconds it felt like yesterday. I could see Harald’s sinister expression, something that looked like a smile but was anything but. I could smell months-old ale and sweat soaked through my clothes. I could hear Kjartan threatening my life on a whim. I could taste the hunger gnawing in my stomach. And I could feel the hollow hopelessness, the fear of this being the last place I saw. 

 

Aethelflaed may have been strong, but I wasn’t. 

 

Short but vicious, those seconds ripped the strength from my limbs. I stumbled. There wasn’t a single eye on me, so I could right myself without detection. My hands reached for my braid, twisting the end furiously, tighter and tighter around my fingers until it hurt. Hot tears pricked behind my eyelids. 

 

Aethelred was cautiously approaching his wife. The world was still turning. I  _ wouldn’t _ lose myself here.   

 

“They are treating you well?” 

  
“They are.”

 

“You have not been...touched?”

 

“I have not.”

 

I flinched sharply. My head felt light and full of air. I felt sick, the kind of rotten feeling that had nothing to do with physical ailments. But these feelings were nothing new. Not anymore. Years of coping through repression had left me a master of the art. And so what if there was a little voice in my head, growing louder every time this happened, telling me this wasn’t working? Telling me I wasn’t okay? _It didn’t matter._ Facing what had happened wasn’t an option. To open that part of myself up, to sit with someone and pick through each festering memory… I couldn’t. That place petrified me - sparked a fear greater than anything I’d felt before. It was a place I couldn’t go. _Wouldn’t_ go. So that left this: pushing each insidious memory out of reach. The lie that I was fine was easier to swallow than the truth that I wasn’t. 

 

_ You coward.  _

 

Whatever Aethelred said next, he lowered his voice so none but Aethelflaed could hear. Her marble face was cool and indifferent - she gave away nothing. I watched their interaction taking deep, slow breaths. They helped to level out the airy feeling in my head. They drained the helium that had me floating away into my memories, bringing me back down to earth, and the present. 

 

“What is your price?” Aethelred demanded, turning back to the Northmen. “It must be fair or you can keep her.”

 

Sigefrid chuckled. “You talk of your woman like you do not care?

 

“She is important to me of course, but she has a price beyond which i cannot go. I will not go.” 

 

It was easy to let the moment swallow me whole, to think of nothing but right  _ here,  _ when Aethelred provided so much food for thought. 

 

The way he spoke of his wife as an object to be haggled over made me uncomfortable. When Uhtred had done it, I was confident it was an act. I couldn’t tell with Aethelred. Clearly he was desperate to have her back; he’d done a piss-poor job of hiding it. It was his hubris that had led to this situation; resolving it was a matter of pride, a way to avoid further humiliation. But did he have any  _ real  _ affection for Aethelflaed? I had to wonder, if all else was stripped away, if Alfred wasn’t his King, if Mercia and Wessex weren’t allies, if it wasn’t his reputation on the line… would he part with a single coin for her? 

 

“Then name it,” Sigefrid said. How quickly he’d tired of dealing with the Saxon. “Name this price.”

 

As if looking around for encouragement, Aethelred took a quick scan of the crowd before announcing his price, 100 pounds of silver. He claimed it was all Mercia could afford, though my companions’ body language suggested it was a low ball offer. Clapa looked to the floor. Uhtred rubbed at his neck, features twisting awkwardly. Finan’s fingers flexed against the neckline of his tunic where his hands often rested, brows raised in surprise. Even Aethelred’s loyal dog Aldhelm bowed his head. 

 

The brothers were silent, their turned backs giving no indication to their feelings. Until Sigefrid turned, and we saw the disbelief painted across his face. 

 

“Does  _ this man _ speak for Alfred?” 

 

“He does not,” Uhtred assured. 

 

“Weland!” Sigefrid called out. “Where is Weland? I do not see him. Weland! Weland!”

 

Murmurs of the name rippled through the crowd, until the parted once more. This time, the figure they let through was far greater in stature. He stood head-and-shoulders clear of anyone else, watching his leader and waiting for a command. 

 

_ Hodor, is that you?  _

 

“This  _ man _ -” and good god was that said with  _ every _ ounce of mockery in Sigefrid’s body “-here. Hit him.” 

 

Aethelred scoffed, but that fake courage fled when it saw the absolute beast marching towards him. Welland stopped before him, balled his fist and delivered a sound punch to the face. Mercia’s Lord hit the deck like a tonne of bricks, out cold. He was dragged away, Sigefrid assuring us he would be harmed no further. With Aethelred’s arrogance and dumbassery (together a grenade, a combination that has done nothing but harm us) out of the way, I hoped we would make some progress. 

 

After the initial exchange we moved to a private room, a dozen or so representatives from each side all it could hold. Aldhelm, Uhtred and Pyrlig took seats draped with furs, and we settled in behind them. Finan crossed his arms across the back of Aldhelm’s chair, unflappably calm. 

 

Uhtred offered an additional 200 pounds of silver to be added to Aethelred’s offer of 100. Sigefrid immediately rejected it, accusing Uhtred of farting just like the pig’s arse (this seemed to be their name for Aethelred. I approved). Coccham’s Lord shrugged, bantering back and forth with Father Pyrlig about the merit of the price. In the background, Sigefrid began to shout about opening the doors. I looked on, baffled. How had the situation descended into fart jokes? 

 

“You insult me!” Sigefrid roared, standing and immediately quieting the room. 

 

There was the severity I was expecting. A furious Sigefrid threatened to have every man in the room assault Aethelflaed if an agreement couldn’t be reached. He detailed each deplorable way he would degrade her, and Uhtred stood, somehow able to keep his face impassive. I had no success; I knew my utter disgust at the lack of humanity in Sigefrid was etched into my appalled face. He was vile and his words were worse, filthy things that made my skin crawl. 

 

An admittance from Uhtred that the price was flexible relieved some of the tension. 

 

Sigefrid laughed that dark laugh of his, returning to his seat with exclamations of “What a surprise!”

 

“Lord if I may, and to save both time and ink, perhaps you might name a price? An acceptable price, not an impossible price.”

 

_ Father Pyrlig, one day I hope I can tell people I’m done with their shit, without actually saying it, as well as you can.  _

 

Coccham’s Lord nodded his agreement. “Say it.”

 

Reluctantly Sigefrid spoke, upper lip twitching. “Ten thousand pounds weight of silver and one thousand pounds weight of gold.” Pyrlig was already shaking his head. “Delivered by Alfred himself.”

 

“Of course,” Uhtred consented. “And he shall arrive with a stout upon his head and an apple in his mouth.”

 

Finan laughed quietly. Despite the unexpected trials of the day, despite it all, I smiled. I was tangled up in him after one tiny sound. He caught me watching him and gave me a look I couldn’t decipher, pinching my side softly and motioning towards our leaders.  _ Oh.  _ He wanted me to demonstrate an attention span longer than a goldfish and stay focused. Well, he shouldn’t have a laugh that felt like wrapping up in a blanket before a warm fire, hot chocolate in hand. 

 

“With respect Sigefrid, you fart louder and longer than the pig’s arse and I together. I need to take a piss. It’s going to be a long day.”

 

_ How I love listening to Uhtred insult people who want to kill us.  _

 

Coccham’s Lord stood abruptly and no one moved to stop him. I lent forwards, propping my forearms on the back of his now-vacant chair and turned to face Finan. 

 

“Do you want to keep your hands to yourself?” 

 

“Not really,” he drawled, smile lazy. 

 

I rolled my eyes. It was a redundant action, because I loved the heat that raced under my skin. This was how we were now. Trading comments to incite and loaded looks, the familiarity of it was starting to feel like coming home. A simple touch, a well placed word, and barely containable giddiness would fizzle through me, body and soul. 

 

Across the space between our chairs and theirs - a small distance that felt like an insurmountable gorge - Sigefrid was muttering furiously to Erik. The scattered conversations around the room blurred into a dull throb of sound, hiding the Dane’s words. 

 

“Do you think they’ll reach an agreement? Uhtred and Sigefrid?”

 

I looked away from the plotting brothers and back to the Irishman. A pinched brow, serious eyes - as always, a good grasp of the situation sat just beneath his light disposition. 

 

“Aye, they should. But it will be more than Uhtred would like.  _ Far _ more.”

 

I worried my bottom lip between my teeth. “And if they don’t ... we can’t leave Aethelflaed here.” I tried to steady the waver in my voice; I wanted to sound firm in my convictions, not desperate. “Not with Sigefrid. We _ can’t.”  _

 

Finan shifted closer, bracing one arm against Uhtred’s chair (which had been empty for a  _ while.  _ Had they ran out of toilet roll?). The nondescript little movement pressed together the length of our arms, from shoulder to wrist. Remind me again why clothes are necessary? For a second, the desire to feel his skin against mine was overwhelming. It was almost too much, and I was infinitely relieved when he spoke and tore my attention away. 

 

“Uhtred will not abandon her,” he assured.

 

I nodded, sighing quietly. 

 

Unconvinced, the warrior nudged my shoulder. “I know him as well as any man. He will  _ not  _ leave her in Sigefrid’s hands.” 

 

I took in his warm eyes and soft tone. He’d read my worry spilling forth and quelled it with ease. And there was the tenderness I felt for him; the light in my chest was so bright I feared one day he’d smile, I’d smile back and he’d see it in my eyes. Fucking hell, I was in  _ deep.  _

 

At last Uhtred returned, and the discussion began again. ‘A long day’ didn’t begin to cover it. They argued in circles, haggling back and forth over prices neither side would dream of accepting. After I’d aged seventeen years, a deal was finally struck for three thousand pounds of silver, and five hundred pounds of gold. Finan had been right: this was  _ not  _ a price Uhtred liked. Our Lord disappeared with Father Pyrlig to visit Aethelflaed, and the brothers invited us all to their hall to eat. 

 

I was tempted to sit with the pigs as some form of protest, but the call of food was too great. That left me to stare angrily at my poultry leg, torn between rejecting it on principle and inhaling it. 

 

“Are you going to eat that?” Osferth piped up from my side, his voice soft even when he raised it. 

 

Polite and well-mannered, the monk would never have swiped the food from my plate. 

 

_ Trust no-one. Stake your claim.  _

 

I grabbed the leg and took a mammoth bite, chewing and nodding and trying to get an audible  _ “yes i fucking am,”  _ out around it. Osferth watched as I demolished the food, lost for words. 

 

Luckily, Aethelred saved him from having to find any. He shuffled sheepishly into the hall, clutching a tiny scrap of cloth to cover his modesty. I snorted and broke into loud laughter, far too entertained to care if it was appropriate. His embarrassed flush and stuttering steps, inhibited by the cloth, just made his furious face funnier. 

 

Aldhelm stood to wrap his Lord in his cloak, attempting to burn holes into the side of my face with his glare. 

 

“What use is your presence here, woman? I see no reason for you.” Humiliated, Aethelred spat the words like a snake would venom. 

 

_ Worry less about me, and more about finding your clothes. Or your dignity. Though that’s been missing far longer. _

 

I had venom, too. But Hild’s wisdom rang in my ears - I didn’t have to prove myself to every tosser who questioned me. And as people to start beef with went, the Lord of Mercia was a  _ really  _ bad choice. 

 

Standing, I made a show of straightening my clothes to neaten my appearance. 

 

“I am but a humble servant of Wessex, Lord. I apologise that my presence displeases you. I shall remove myself, but first, please accept this display of respect from my homeland.” 

 

I bowed deeply, bringing forth both hands to flip him the bird. I kept my gaze low and thought about a lifetime without ice cream to keep a straight face. After a few seconds I stood to find Aethelred still looked pissed. He said no more though, dismissing me with a harrumph and a wave of his hand. In his arrogance, it hadn’t even occurred to him that I could’ve been taking the piss. I met Finan’s eyes over the pitiful pita-bread’s shoulder, and almost lost it at his knowing look. He’d seen me use the middle finger enough times to figure out it was anything but respectful. So I scarpered, before I broke composure.

 

Wandering outside I located Clapa, where we’d left him at a small table. The wall appeared to be supporting most of his weight - how much had he drank?

 

“Adeline!” he slurred, boisterously waving his mug at me.

 

A fair bit. 

 

“Is this seat taken?”

 

I tried not to laugh as he squinted at the empty spot. He stared at it for a good ten seconds, before declaring it wasn’t. I took the seat, folding my arms across the table and laying my head down. 

 

“I am surprised to see you parted from the food.” 

 

“Ah, it was a total sausage fest in there. And not the good kind. Too many men, all of whom think  _ far  _ too highly of themselves.” 

 

He nodded sagely, though I’m sure he understood none of that. Clapa has trouble translating my bollocks at the best of times. He was a good friend though - he never made me feel like I needed to conform. I still remember the day I rode away from Dunholm towards my new life. The Dane spent the entire morning telling me about Denmark, because I couldn’t bare to spend another second in my own head. 

 

Feeling sentimental, I turned what I hoped was a winning smile on him. “Could you tell me some more about Denmark, Clapa?” 

 

A grin lit his face. “What would you like to know?

 

“Tell me about your favourite time of year?” 

 

“The first days of spring, when the ice begins to thaw,” he answered easily. “My older brothers would take me to fish in the lake, once I was old enough. It was a waste of their time - I have no skill. I preferred to watch the shore for deer, or on a lucky day, a wolf.” 

 

That sounded blissful, and I told him so. The night passed with tales of childhood adventures. He asked me for a story in return, and I told him about the time my sister Colette and I had our own Britney Moment and shaved off our hair (we were 10). The hours slipped by in a blur of laughter, and I think the next day had begun before we retired. 

 

At first light we left for Wintanceaster. It was then Uhtred informed a select few of the guard about Aethelflaed and Erik’s situation, away from eager Mercian ears. They’d fallen in love and begged Uhtred to help them escape, to save Wessex the ransom that would cripple her.

 

_ Romeo and Juliet are quaking.  _

 

Oaths and allegiances be damned, it was clear Uhtred was considering it. 

 

On arrival, accompanied by Aethelred and Aldhelm, he disappeared to speak to Alfred. I left to spend the day with Thyra, and we caught up over dinner. With a salacious grin I’d inquired about her life with Beocca, and got no more than a pretty blush and a half-hearted glare for my troubles. I called in at the alehouse after nightfall, though the usual suspects were all missing. I found out later that Lord Odda had been attempting to drink his weight in ale that night, leaving the Coccham Squad to put him to bed, and Clapa and Osferth to bunk with him. 

 

I slept like shit - sleeping alone remained a monster that reared its head whenever we travelled. I left the inn at dawn, roaming the town to try and clear the stuffiness from my head. Bundled in my thick cloak, I watched the sleepy town stretch and groan with the rising sun. Stalls and wares were laid out, and men with snares and bows made for the towns’ borders. One person caught my attention above the rest, however. Sihtric cut through the crowds, villagers leaving room for his mighty bay horse to amble along the street. 

 

“Sihtric!” I shouted, waving frantically in his direction. 

 

He spotted me easily, returning the gesture with a wide smile. Beaming, I made a beeline for him, excitement crackling in my steps. My friend dismounted as I reached him and we shared a long-overdue hug. It was a relief to have him returned from the jaws of danger. 

 

“I’m so glad you didn’t fuck up and get yourself killed,” I said into his shoulder, holding on tight. 

 

“A charming welcome!”

 

I stepped back, shrugging with an off-hand smirk. “Suited to the man.”

 

Shaking his head, Sihtric handed me his horse’s reins. “Be quiet and be about your work, stable-girl.”

 

After taking his horse to the stable (where  _ he  _ bedded the sweet gelding down,  _ thank you very much _ ) we headed straight for Uhtred and Gisela’s lodgings. Ribbing each other all the way, it was bloody  _ brilliant  _ to have him back. We reached the place to find the happy couple nowhere in sight. They couldn’t have been up to anything too spicy, because Finan was sat at the table outside. 

 

_ Unless his kink is liste- _

 

_ Don’t finish that thought.  _

 

“Look what the cat dragged in!” I crowed, all smiles, unable and unwilling to restrain my happiness. 

 

The Irishman was on his feet in a flash, sharing a super cool bro-dude-man-hug with Sihtric. My cheeks were starting to ache from all the positive feeling, something the universe noticed and decided to remedy. This was no social call. Sihtric told us he bore word from Erik, and Finan left to rouse our Lord and Lady. 

 

A breeze tousled the ends of my hair, still loose and messy after a fitful night’s sleep. The long strands danced and I watched them, then looked beyond to Wintanceaster. The town was awake now. It’s fate could very well lie in the ink and parchment clasped in Sihtric’s hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We were meant to be rescuing Aethelflaed today. Or at least leaving to rescue her. Sigh. 
> 
> Not a huge amount of Finan in this one, either. For me, little, 'background' moments - shared looks and laughs, support and closeness, offering comfort and understanding - help to build the bond between two people as well as the 'big' moments. I’m trying to do that here, and I hope it’s still enjoyable for you guys! That said... I'm such a sucker for Finan and Adeline. There's some fun stuff coming with Aethelflaed's rescue, the finale of S2, and the aftermath. 
> 
> We spent a while in our girl's head this time. She's having a rough time of it, and it's not going to get any better. She understands her coping mechanisms are horse-shite, but she's too scared to do anything about it. She'd rather just carry on as normal. She certainly has a shock in store for her! 
> 
> Let me know what you thought!
> 
> Until next time loves.


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